Persephone Unchained
by Lum
Summary: Two years have passed since Christine left him for Raoul. Erik continues to reside underneath the burned down remains of his abandoned opera house where he has resigned himself to live alone as the Angel in Hell. Sophie stumbles into Erik's underground world one day quite by accident. He saves her, but he can not risk another angry mob, and so he takes her captive. E/OC Complete
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction based off of the works of Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Weber, and Susan kay. No profit is being made from this story. All original characters are the property of this author._

 _Warnings: This story is rated M for mature audiences for violence, adult themes, adult content, adult language, sexual scenes, alcohol/drug addiction, character death, and references of rape/non-consent, domestic violence, and sexual abuse of a minor._

 _Author's Note: This story will be set approximately 2 years after the musical. It will have references to Leroux's phantom and elements of Susan Kay's novel as canon._

 **Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 1

Sophie stood resolute and desperate on the street corner of the intersection of the Rue de Rivoli and the Rue du Castiglione just outside of the Jardin des Tuileries. It was her favorite place to sell her flowers in Paris. And even in the dead of winter Sophie usually managed to bring home just enough to pay the rent or buy that evening's dinner. However, today was not such a day. The weather had suddenly shifted for the worse and brought a cold wind howling throughout the streets of the city and it chased the Parisians inside.

Her shoulders ached as she struggled to hold the straw basket aloft while at the same time keeping her thick wool shawl wrapped tightly around herself. She scanned the emptying streets up and down and eyed the pedestrians, or lack thereof, and found that she was quite alone even though the sun had not yet set.

February in Paris could be brutal or charming depending upon how often one found oneself standing on a street corner. Unfortunately for Sophie, whose livelihood and well-being depended upon how much money she could earn in exchange for the flowers that she grew in her family's rooftop glass covered garden, that meant that winters were often brutal in more ways than one.

In order to help keep her family in food and clothing and her alcoholic, pugilistic stepfather in gin Sophie stood on street corners more often than not.

Still, her endeavors gave her a certain amount of freedom and autonomy that most other young women her age did not have. At twenty two Sophie was lucky to have such freedoms still. Most girls had been married for years and had born at least two or three children by her age. There were not many opportunities for a young spinster from a lower income working family. Sophie's green thumb allowed her to stay out of the whore houses and factories. So Sophie was grateful even when she had to stand on street corners holding a heavy basket for hours in inhospitable weather.

In fact, Sophie was so well versed within her little pocket of Paris that she could tell which streets were best for selling different wares and she felt as if she could navigate the streets in her sleep. On more than a few occasions where she had found herself returned home half asleep with no memory of the journey this skill had been very useful to her.

She shifted the basket from one arm to the other and clasped her wool mittened hands together trying to rub some spark of warmth back into her frozen fingers. A breeze blew down the alleyway behind her and sent a chill down her spine. She closed her eyes and pretended that she was warm and that the thin wool of her patched dress wasn't letting in more cold air than it was keeping out.

"So-phie!" a high pitched voice sang out from across the way. Sophie smiled when she saw little Emma, bundled up with scarves and shawls until only her rosy cheeks and a riot of messy brown curls could be seen. "Can we go home now, Sophie?" the little girl asked.

"It is getting late. How did you do?" Sophie asked the little girl.

Emma's grin exposed a missing front tooth which only added to her cherubic appearance. "You were right, Sophie! I sold over half of my matches! The Drowley boys were having another boxing fight in the back of the pub just like you said. I've sold more matches tonight than I did all week!" Emma pulled her little threadbare coin purse from a pocket of her shabby gown and held it aloft, jingling it for Sophie to see and hear.

"Oh!" Sophie exclaimed kindly, "that's wonderful Em. Why don't you go on home and give that to maman? And save me some stew and bread. I'm going to see if I can sell the rest of these bouquets and flowers before it gets too dark."

Emma pouted and stuffed her jingling coin purse full of centimes back into the safety of her dress pocket. "You're not coming with me?" the little girl asked as she rubbed her runny nose against the back of her mitten.

"No," Sophie explained kindly, "if I don't sell these flowers tonight then I don't think that they will last for selling tomorrow. Go on home and get warm for me," she added with a nod in the direction of home. They lived just a little ways down the street in the shabbier but still respectable part of town.

"I'll be there soon," Sophie added.

The little girl made a show of scraping the heel of her leather boot against the ground and pouted her little pink lips.

Sophie sighed and shifted her basket onto her hip so that one hand was freed. She tugged Emma's shawl tighter around her hair and face and let her thumb trail against the little girl's rosy, wind-chapped cheek.

"Oh… my… what's this? On your face? Why… I think it might just be a smile!" She joked as she pinched the little girl's cheek gently.

Emma let out a giggle at the attention until her face splitinto a cheschire grin from ear to ear.

"Oh, it is a smile! Oh my, and what a lovely smile you have" Sophie exclaimed lovingly.

"So-ph-ieeee stop iitttt!" Emma whined playfully.

"That's better. Now go on home before you freeze solid." Sophie swung her basket into Emma's behind and ushered the girl down the street.

Emma ran ahead, stopping only to wave one last goodbye, before she turned a corner and disappeared from view.

Sophie pulled her shawl tighter against the cold winter wind and she watched as Emma's tiny figure disappeared around the corner and headed in the direction of their home.

She sighed and lifted the corner of the blanket that was covering her delicate blooms. She counted four tiny bouquets and eleven even smaller bundles of flowers that were meant to be pinned to dresses or hats. Softly and under her breath she let out a stream of the most unladylike of curses. She added up the sums in her head and came to the conclusion that the week's earnings wouldn't be enough. If she didn't sell her basket tonight, or at the least by tomorrow, then they wouldn't have enough for the rent that was due on Monday.

But the streets were practically empty as people sought the comforts of their warm homes. Sophie scanned the street one last time and failed to find any new customers that she had missed before. She let out a huge sigh and covered the flowers up again. She hiked the straw basket up higher onto her shoulder and resolved herself to head in the opposite direction of home. If she made her way up towards the cafes which lined the street that connected the empty Jardin des Tuilleries and the old burned down remains of the Opera Populaire she might make enough money for the rent. The opera house had been shut down year ago, but the lines of cafes and restaurants were still busy with customers even on cold, winter evenings.

The Opera had once been a prime selling place for Sophie's greenhouse flowers in years past. She recalled standing outside of its carved stone and gilded edifice as she strained to hear a single note of music or song as she sold her flowers to the passing patrons. Sophie had made herself a nice little empire selling bouquets of flowers to smitten opera goers and fans who wanted to win the star Soprano's affections. La Carlotta had kept her family well fed for many years.

But those were only memories now. Now, two years after the tragic fire, the burned down ruin was simply a bitter reminder of better, happier times that could never be again. Better times like when her father had been alive and her little family had been happy and her life was simple and easy. She had once sold flowers in order to buy hair ribbons and books and other such frivolities. Now she sold them to save her family from ruin and the poorhouse.

Jacques, her mother's new husband, had come into their lives eight years ago and it was all that Sophie could do to manage to keep her oftentimes sharp tongue in check and not stir up trouble between them. He made it so very difficult. And her poor mother was no help. The woman was too timid to intervene.

It did not take much to rile Jacques' temper. He had been a charming suitor for Sophie's fragile, recently widowed, and desperate mother. But once his hold on Sophie's family had been solidified with marriage his attitude had promptly changed for the worse. He was a foul-tempered and quick to anger man with wandering eyes and hands. And with Jacques came yet another addition to their family. Little Emma was another mouth to feed and body to clothe. And to be honest, Emma was the only reason why Sophie stayed and tried to keep her little family afloat. How could she abandon a child to that man?

Sophie screwed her mouth down tight in determination and headed towards the one part of Paris which she loathed above all others. Because the line of cafes between home and there was sure to net her a few more francs and a few less bruises from Jacque's pinching hands.

Laughter spilled out into the streets as Sophie passed a line of cafes in various stages of the evening. Some were full to bursting with laughter and chatter and ladies in fine evening dresses and glittering paste jewels and gentleman in fine buttoned coats and leather gloves. Others were frequented only by a few regulars who set about their dinners with less frivolity and more routine.

She stared in the window of one such a place and imagined the feel of a silk gown on her body in place of her more practical home boiled wool dress. She imagined sipping on a glass of champagne while the bubbles broke against her tongue and she laughed carelessly at the joke of her dark haired companion. She had tasted champagne once when her father had bought a bottle for Christmas. But it had been a long time since then, and Sophie scarcely remembered the taste of it. After all, she'd only been a child. She hadn't realized what a special treat it was.

The patrons inside the little cafe shifted and she looked away in embarrassment as the door opened and two such lovely creatures emerged. She took a moment to find her voice and remember why she was here.

"A flower for the pretty lady, sir?" she offered demurely with downcast eyes.

The couple turned and stared at her, looking her up and down. "Oh Philippe, can we? I haven't had flowers in ages," the woman exclaimed.

"Hmm?" the gentleman said in a distracted voice. "Oh, yes, of course. Let's have a look, shall we?"

Sophie pulled back the blanket and expose her delicate blooms.

"Roses in winter?" the woman said in a shocked voice, "I didn't think they bloomed at this time of year."

Sophie smiled and replied, "I grow them in a glass house, _mademoiselle_. My flowers bloom all year."

The gentleman picked out a small bouquet of yellow roses from the basket and presented them with a flourish and a bow to his companion, "Here, my beauty, yellow roses to match your flaxen hair." The man reached into his pocket he withdrew two coins with which he paid Sophie, and then, arm in arm, he and his companion left.

Sophie bobbed a curtsey at their retreating figures as she watched the lovers make their way down the now quiet street. She sighed as she watched them go, then quickly added the coins to her purse and covered her flowers once more.

The wind chapped at her cheeks and lips as she continued her way down the street and repeated the pattern of coveting, offering, and selling her wares until her flower basket was lighter and her coin purse was heavy against her thigh.

The cafes emptied out and the gas lights were extinguished and then it began to gently snow. Big, fat, powdery flakes fell down and coated her shawl and eyelashes. The snow melted against her chapped lips and stung.

The sound of church bells rang out in the quiet evening air and Sophie counted to ten. It was finally time to head home to her cold bowl of stew and even colder bed. She winced as her foot slipped inside of her boot and a sore spot rubbed against a seam in the leather. She was exhausted and ready for sleep because she knew that she would need her rest. Tomorrow would simply be more of the same. It was always the same.

Eyes half-lidded and unaware of her surroundings she started to make her way home.

It was two blocks later when Sophie, in her half asleep state, realized that the sound that she had just heard was the sound of a foot falling slightly out of place with her own in the snow covered path. She jolted awake from her half asleep state with a sudden feeling of foreboding. Her stomach twisted into a knot as the hair stood up on the back of her neck. She turned to look behind herself and she could barely make out the figure of a man. He was a few blocks back, although it was difficult to really judge the distance in the haze of the darkened streets.

A chill that had nothing to do with the cold crawled down her spine .

 _Don't be stupid,_ she thought to herself. He was probably just a man heading home after a long day at work, the same as her. But Sophie wasn't convinced. Her instincts were urging her to run.

Sophie looked straight ahead as she hastened her pace. The steps behind her her quickened and did the same. Whenever she sped up her pace the figure behind her matched hers. When she slowed down, so did they. Sophie was no longer convinced that the person behind her was a harmless shop clerk or a tired waiter heading home to his bed after a long night at work.

Her fat coin purse landed heavily against her thigh and suddenly she was aware of how much of an easy target she might appear to be to a ruffian who did not know her. Never before had she been troubled by the local street gangs or thieves, but winter and starvation and rotgut gin brought out the worst in men and times were tough indeed ever since the fire at the opera house had taken away so many jobs. The poor houses were full to bursting lately and the prisons were not any better.

She passed the cobbler shop which had long since closed for the evening and suddenly she realized that she was already halfway home. Sophie also realized, with sudden clarity, that she was leading whoever was stalking her directly to her home. Thoughts of innocent little Emma sprang to mind. Sophie made her decision in that moment and without another thought.

Sophie ducked into the nearest alley and she ran down the now slippery cobblestones. Her footsteps were heavy and noisy in her panic and her heavy breathing filled the otherwise quiet alley. Her alarm turned to panic when she heard her pursuer following right behind and making just as much noise.

As she approached a crossway in the back alleys she made a split-second decision and timed her turn at the last possible second. Sophie tucked her basket hard into her side and made a sharp left turn instead of heading right. She backtracked the way that she had come as she headed towards the ruin of the Opera Populaire.

Minutes felt like decades as Sophie ran for her life. She zig zagged through the abandoned, quiet streets of Paris until even she felt almost lost in their maze. The charred ruins of the opera building and its wood covered windows and doors loomed before her. She hid in the shadows of a boarded up stone archway she watched and waited to see if her pursuer had emerged from the twisting alleyways. She pressed herself deeper into the shadows as she waited.

Her breath fogged before her in ragged gasps as she fought to catch her breath. Her ribs ached from exertion against the strain of her corset and heavy woolen skirts. She looked down cursed under her breath as she tucked the fabric tighter against her legs to hide them better in the shadows.

"Yo, do you see her?" a rough voice called out from not too far away. "She's a slippery one, eh? I'm gonna have some fun with this skirt for all the trouble that she's put us through tonight."

"Shh, you buffoon. I know she's here," the second voice said. "She tried to give us the slip but I'll sniff her out."

Sophie pressed herself even further into the cold marble behind her and she wondered if the beating of her heart sounded as loud to others as it felt inside of her chest.

Footsteps sounded closer as the men searched the area trying to ferret her out.

She squinted her eyes shut and prayed to a deity that she wasn't sure she really believed in as she tried to quiet her ragged breathing. The footsteps crunched closer and closer. Her eyes flew open to see the faint outlines of her footprints in the accumulating snow just as a face popped around the corner of the dark and started her.

"Hello, girlie," the ruffian said with a smile as he spotted her in her hiding place.

Sophie didn't even think about her actions. She swung her arm with all of her might and smashed her flower basket over the man's head and battered him away from her. He let out a sound of surprise as he was smashed into the marble wall.

"Oy!" he cried out as he fell and sprawled into the snow covered street.

Picking up her skirts to make her movements easier she fled away from him.

"I'm gonna give you a right knock in the head for that one, lovie," the gruff voice called out tauntingly behind her.

"For Christ's sake, what are you doing lying around for?" the second voice added. "Get up! God, do I have to do everything myself?"

Sophie didn't wait to hear the rest of their fight as she turned the corner. The voices trailed after her as she spotted a hole in one of the boarded up windows. It appeared as if the board that was covering the window had splintered in one of that winter's many ice storms. The opening was just big enough for a thing girl or child to squeeze through its narrow opening. Sophie attempted it. She would not have been able to outrun these two men forever. Hiding was her best choice, now. Her dress caught and ripped on a giant splinter of wood as she forced her way in. But she pulled and shoved herself through the crack in the wood until her foot landed on solid ground and she was through.

She was met with darkness as she tumbled into the opening of the smoky remains of the opera's foyer.

"Hurry up, she went inside," the voices called behind her. Sophie stumbled in the dark and nearly twisted her ankle as she tried to navigate the ruins of the abandoned opera house. She flinched when she heard the splintering of wood behind her. They were trying to widen the gap in the wood so that they could follow her.

She scrambled over fallen debris until she managed to find her way inside the opera house. She had never been inside of it before, but the layout seemed straightforward. There was a grand entry way with a staircase that led up to the upper seats. Moonbeams shone through the cracks in the boarded up windows and filled the foyer with light while at the same time they cast ominous shadows in her path. She reached out in front of her and felt her way like a blind woman. And then her hand found a wall and she almost cried in relief.

The path was littered with debris as Sophie took care with each step she made. She slid one foot in front of the other as she slowly made her way across the room to where she thought she saw the outline of a doorway. Her best chance was to find a place to hide for a few hours until these gruff men tired of the chase and abandoned her for an easier target.

Sophie flinched and had to force herself to keep inching across the floor as the sound of wood splintering behind her filled her ears. Quickening her pace Sophie followed the wall until she found a doorway, and as she went through it she found herself in the remains of the auditorium itself. In the pitch black of the windowless auditorium she crawled beneath a charred velvet seat and waited.

Time passed her by as Sophie fought against her exhaustion. She strained to hear for every sound that echoed in the once glorious music hall.

"Here… girlie girlie. We won't bite," one man taunted as the other snickered.

"We'll find you girlie… that's a promise. And you won't like it when when we do," the other voice added.

Their voices and footsteps echoed all throughout the room as the sounds bounced in the room's now distorted acoustics.

"No… not at all… won't like it one bit. We're gonna have our fun with you for all this trouble you've put us through."

Clamping her hand across her mouth to stifle her panicked breathing she cast her eyes into the dark as if she could see by sheer willpower. Their cruel voices echoed against the walls making her ears just as useless as her eyes.

A hand rustled in fabric and the sound of a match being struck filled her with with trepidation as suddenly a soft yellow glow flared to life beside her.

"Gotcha!" the man called as he snatched her by her hair.

"Good going!" the other one chortled. "I found a lamp backstage. There's oil in it still," he said as he took the matchbook from his companion and lit the lamp.

She screamed as she was pulled from her hiding place.

"What have we here? Why… look Charlie, I think I've caught myself a little mouse! All I wanted was your coin purse. But now I think I want a different sort of payment," the coarse man uttered.

The other man chuckled as Sophie screamed.

Her scalp was on fire as he tugged her hair until she felt like it would rip free from the skin at any moment.

"Let me go!" she screamed futilely. His grip hardened in her hair causing her to wince and scream again.

"Look, brother. The little mouse wants us to let her go. What do you say? Hmm? Should we let her free from our trap?"

The other man chuckled and replied, "bring here here with that light, first, let me see."

Sophie was marched painfully towards the stage by the fist which was wound deep in her hair. She winced with each step as he jostled her forward.

"Stop it," she called out with a sob. "Let me go. Please. You can have my purse, just let me go."

"Hmm…" the man holding her said in a cruel and playful manner, "I think not. You owe me for that knock against the head with that basket of yours."

She cringed as his hand slackened in her hair to instead grab her tightly by the arm as he marched her towards the stage.

"Bring her here already, you dolt," the other voice called from the stage. "I want to see our pretty little mouse."

The man behind her shoved her forward hard and she stumbled against the stairs that led up to the stage. A rough hand caught her and broke her momentum. Sophie was marched up the rickety steps until she was standing before the second man. The lamp was held aloft beside her face until the soft glow enveloped her and she felt its tiny heat against her skin.

The sound of her whimpers echoed throughout the once grand performance space.

"So," the man holding her began, "I'll go first. Seeing as how I'm the one who got hit in the head and all."

The other man chuckled and nodded in agreement as he jumped off of the stage and, with a flourish, made a show of dusting off a front row seat, and plopped down into the rickety velvet chair. He crossed his legs as a cruel grin split his face.

Sophie looked back at her attacker in dread.

"Please, _monsieur…_ " she whimpered, "please… don't." She studied his face noting the crooked angle of a once-broken and now poorly-healed nose and the cleft in his chin. His mousy brown hair stuck out in uneven crops around his head as if the locks had been cut by a dull pocket knife.

He watched her assessment of him in amusement and called out in jest to his partner, "oh, I think she likes what she sees! Let's see what's under your skirts, then, huh? Maybe I'll like what I see? I don't think you're as innocent as you pretend."

He swung her around and grabbed her roughly from behind and held her flush against him. His arms cut into her and crushed her ribs.

The seated man chuckled from the audience below the stage as he leaned forward to get a better look. The man who was grasping sophie tightly started pawing roughly at her skirts.

"No!" she cried out as she stamped her foot and tried to kick at him behind herself.

He grunted with the effort of restraining her as he wrapped his arm even tighter around her. She felt the tear in her dress rip wider as he groped at her body. And then his hand was under her skirts and he was grabbing blindly at her calf as she tried to kick and buck him from her.

One hand was now freed in the shuffle. Sophie reached behind her and raked her long nails down her attackers face.

The man screamed in agony as her nails tore flesh and ripped a trail towards his once broken nose. She took advantage of his distraction to rear her head back and smash it into his face. Bones crunched as her head met his nose and his grip on her slackened. She whirled around to face him as she sprung back and away from him. Sophie watched the tiny rivulets of blood as it trickled down his nose and over his mouth and dripped onto the floor in front of them.

The man in the audience guffawed in glee and declared, "the little mouse is actually a hell cat in disguise! I'm so glad that you went first, brother."

"You stupid cunt!" the man on the stage screamed at her in rage. "Look at what you've done!" From his belt he grabbed a knife and brandished it before her. "I'll kill you now after I have my fun!"

Sophie felt rage coiling in her belly until the fear diminished and was gone. If they thought she'd be an easy target then they were sorely mistaken. She slid one foot back and curled her fingers into open fists at her side. "I'll claw your eyes out if you touch me again" she promised them fiercely.

A crack and whirring sounded from somewhere above as a heavy sack fell from the rigging and landed squarely on Sophie's attacker. He plummeted to the stage under it's weight and then was still. The knife clattered to the ground and Sophie rushed forward and grabbed for it.

Brandishing her new weapon she whirled to face the other attacker who had leapt from the velvet seats and was climbing the stage stairs towards her.

She looked between the two men, one chasing for her and the other eerily still on the floor, and she turned to flee instead of facing him.

Sophie made three great strides across the stage floor before the creaking, splintering, charred stage floor gave way and a hole opened up underneath her. She was swallowed up by darkness in the hole as she fell, and fell, and fell. Until the ground rose up to meet her and then she stopped with a sickening jolt and flash of pain.

A snap echoed out around her as a fierce stab of pain shot up her leg. She had landed poorly and now lay crumpled on the floor beneath the stage in agony. Stars burst behind her eyes as she felt her left leg grow hot. Her body felt as if it must be on fire. She tried to look at her leg to assess the manner and severity of injury but there was hardly any light down in the hole. Only a tiny beam of weak light streamed down from above. But it was enough for Sophie to see how far she'd fallen. She laid back against the cold, unforgiving floor as she whimpered in pain. Bile rose up in her throat but she forced herself to swallow it back down as she tried to focus on her ragged breathing. The fall had knocked the air from her lungs, but now that she'd recovered she took a deep, agonizing breath. She tried not to cry from the pain but felt the tears leaking from the corners of her eyes anyways.

Sophie wasn't sure how long she laid there in agony, but it was long enough that she felt her warmth as it leached out of her and into the stone floor. Her teeth began to chatter as she shivered. Her fingers were dull and useless as she tried to find the knife in the darkness. She searched the entire area that was within her limited reach, but it was to no avail. Her eyes fluttered shut as tears trickled down her cheeks. Thoughts of Emma and warm stew and freshly baked bread sitting out for her in front of a cozy fire flooded her mind. She felt the tears rolling down her face until eventually she didn't even have the strength to cry any longer.

Her breathing slowed as the fire in her leg decreased to a dull ache that twinged only if she moved. She counted to one hundred and then tested moving her left leg beneath her.

The pain flared to life, double what it had been before. It was agonizing. Her body was so very cold and yet on fire all at once. She cried out again and watched as stars burst behind her eyes from the pain until the shape of a glowing white mask floated towards her in the dark. Her vision grew dim around the edges until everything was swallowed by blackness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 2

Sophie woke slowly. The last remnant of her dream was floating pleasantly around in her mind as she gently returned to consciousness. Her head felt fuzzy and her thoughts were as slow as molasses as she began to take notice of the fluffy mound of warm softness of the bedding that was all around her. With her eyes still shut she savored the feel of the pillow under her head and the warmth of the blankets that enveloped her. Her brow creased in confusion as she tried to make sense of her dream. A song echoed through her mind haunting her with its memory as she attempted to piece everything together.

No matter. It was time to get up and start the fire before everyone else wakes up.

She swung her leg out of the covers to rise and screamed in agony as flames broke through her haze and she jolted awake to a sudden and painful awareness.

The pain had her whimpering as she peeled the blankets away and looked down at her leg. Angry purple and black bruises were visible on the outside of her left calf in between what she could only assume was some sort of crudely crafted splint. Bits of leather and wood were binding her lower leg in place, keeping it immobile, and the whole contraption was padded with rags of frayed cloth stuffed into place sporadically. She was relieved to see that the skin on her leg was intact even if it was angrily bruised.

Footsteps sounded from outside of the room which Sophie was just now observing with wide, frantic eyes. Her gaze rolled from side to side as she took in her surroundings. The bed in which she had awoken was not her bed. Instead she was laying in a pool of red silk fabric.

The room around her was lit by candelabras filled with dozens of flickering, tapered white candles that cast a soft and friendly glow around the room. Looking more closely she noticed that the walls of the room weren't even walls at all. Instead they were slabs of jagged rock as if the room had been carved from within the earth itself.

A hand appeared suddenly between two panels of a curtain that she hadn't noticed before and a white clothed arm pushed the fabric aside to reveal the approaching figure of a man. Sophie tried to stifle her inhale as she regarded him fully. He stepped cautiously through the break in the curtain as though he was approaching a wild animal. Sophie wondered if that wasn't an accurate description of herself in this moment. She thought that she must look like a startled deer with too much of the whites of her eyes showing.

Sophie collected herself and licked her suddenly dry lips.

"My leg…" she said dumbly and trailed off. An awkward silence grew between them.

"It's broken," the man responded matter of factly.

She nodded as if this was an entirely normal conversation. As if they were discussing the weather. Sophie focused on keeping her breathing even as the strange masked man steadily and slowly crossed the chamber. He moved closer slowly until he stood beside the bed. She watched him as he reached his hand out and rested it casually against the carved figurehead of the foot of the bed. Some sort of bird? It was difficult to tell from this angle within the bed.

"And I see that it has been set…" she added.

He nodded mutely.

"By you…" she stated. He nodded again. She watched his white mask gleam in the dancing glow of the candlelight and a memory surfaced as if she had never forgotten it.

"I saw you… in the dark. I thought it was the pain making me see things that weren't there… but it was you. I saw you after I fell through the hole in the stage…" her voice trailed off.

Convinced that he was rooted in the spot Sophie spared a second to glance about her surroundings as she took in a better assessment of the room. She noticed that there were carved statues of exotic women and tall golden candelabras full of dripping white wax candles. There were oriental painted trunks and chests of drawers lined against the outer rim of the room. The rest of it was hidden from her view behind a long curtain that puddled and draped along the gray stone floor. He'd come from somewhere beyond the curtain so she assumed that the room continued beyond view. Her eyes returned to the man who stood before her and she saw that he was patiently waiting while he watched her.

"Where am I?" she asked.

"You are in my home," he answered her softly.

Sophie's lips thinned together as she met his gaze and held it with all of the sternness that she could muster in her current, broken state. "You know that's not what I meant."

She thought that she saw a small quip of a smile tug at his mouth but it was gone before she could be sure that it had even happened at all. It wouldn't be the first time that she had aggravated someone to the point of facial tremors. Her father, God rest his soul, had often told her teasingly that she could frustrate the devil himself.

"You are in my home beneath the Opera Populaire, _mademoiselle_. Welcome to the lair…" he paused for dramatic effect and gave a small bow before snapping back up into perfect posture and waving a hand in the air as if to showcase their surroundings, "of the phantom of the opera."

Her eyes widened further in surprise. The moment stretched into discomfort. And Sophie did the only thing that she could do. She did what she always did when anxiety drove her to near panic. She laughed. She laughed so hard that her ribs strained against the confines of her corset and fat tears rolled down her cheeks. With clumsy hands she wiped them away and smoothed her unruly hair back from her face. At last she regained control of herself.

She took a calming breath and gulped down air, then she turned her gaze back towards the man who stood before her. She noticed that his eyes looked slightly wild as he watched her. It was his turn to be the started deer. The thought made her want to laugh again but Sophie kept her composure.

"Well then _monsieur le fantome_ , I must thank you for your hospitality and your services."

The nervous laughter threatened to rise up again and Sophie fought to push it back down. She raised a fist to her mouth to stifle it before another thought assaulted her. It was a thought that sapped all of the humor from her bones and her face fell somber.

"And the men… the ones who…" she trailed off.

Curiously the man tensed before her. Sophie couldn't even put a finger on what had changed in his demeanor. She couldn't tell if it was something in his posture or an expression on the one half of his face that she could see without the mask.

"They are dead." He added matter of factly and without elaboration.

Her mouth dried and she swallowed a lump in her throat but she held his gaze and steeled herself. "Good," was her only reply.

She shifted slightly in bed which sent a jolt of searing pain all the way up her leg and into her back. Sophie winced from the pain and closed her eyes against it, as if shutting out one sense would dull another and stop the agony before it engulfed her completely. She gritted her teeth and breathed heavily through her nose until she had counted to thirty and the pain receded.

When she opened her eyes again she saw that the room was empty. But she had not heard a rustling of fabric, or the sound of footsteps that would betray his retreat from the room. Yet the room was empty nonetheless, as if he had never even been there at all. Perhaps he really was a ghost. Perhaps she was still lying there, dying and hallucinating in her final moments, on the floor beneath the stage of the opera house.

But the pain was very real. She wondered if the man who had been rumored to haunt the opera house in years past had perished in the great fire, as everyone had speculated, and if he truly was a phantom now. But then she wondered how a phantom could lift and carry an injured woman down into the depths of the opera house. Ghosts couldn't touch. She pondered the idea in her head and declared herself a fool for even considering it. Sophie did not believe in the supernatural. She was not one of those girls who read those cheap penny dreadful gothic romance novels where ghosts haunted the heroine.

Now that she was alone again she picked at the bedsheets nervously. It was a terrible habit of hers to always be keeping her hands busy with fidgeting. The red fabric felt soft and luxurious underneath her fingers. She noticed how pale her skin looked when contrasted against the blood red fabric. Sophie dropped the sheets and studied her hands, frowning in disgust at the maroon and black debris embedded underneath the nails.

A small shudder ran through her before she could suppress it as she realized that it was her attacker's flesh and blood that were lodged beneath her nails. Suddenly she was assaulted with the memory of her raking her nails down that man's face and the feeling of his warm blood on her fingertips. Seeing the remnants of her trauma reminded her of the feelings of his hands upon her and her head throbbed in memory of his cruel, tight grip in her hair.

Using the longest nail of the other hand Sophie set about cleaning them as best she could under the circumstances. One nail weakened and broke nearly to the quick and Sophie ripped it free. She had little patience for this gruesome task and wanted it accomplished. The sooner it was over the sooner she could put all of the horribleness behind her.

It was at this moment that the masked man stepped through the curtain again. Sophie started at his sudden and soundless appearance and looked up to see him carrying a small tray set with a delicate bone china cup and saucer. He approached her cautiously and set the tray down upon one of the largest and closest painted oriental trunks.

Sophie's attention wavered between observing him and her task at hand. She watched him distractedly while she finished cleaning her nails as best as she could.

"I feel like I can not get clean," she admitted out loud as she tried in vain to rid herself of the embedded remains of her attacker. As if removing the proof of it would also take the memory of the assault with it. Her fingers began to tremble and she grew angry at this display of weakness. Sophie's agitation grew and she ripped at another nail, the edge caught the cuticle and tore. She winced at the pain as a tiny bead of blood welled to the surface.

"Stop," he commanded. "You're making it worse," he added. And then he disappeared yet again, only this time she saw him as he turned and went. He was as silent as a cat stalking a bird. His footsteps made no sound and even the curtain failed to rustle at his passing. His noisy entrance earlier seemed to be intentional now. And she was absolutely certain that he was no incorporeal specter or figment of her dying mind. Sophie held her injured hand carefully so as to not ruin the bed sheets by spilling the beaded drop of blood onto them.

He returned a moment later with a small basin of steaming water, and a threadbare scrap of white muslin that looked like it had once been a shirt just like the one that he was wearing now. He paused by a painted dresser and rummaged through it for a moment before he retrieved a small ivory manicure tool. She arched her eyebrow at the lady's nail tool but was smart enough to not remark upon its presence or origin.

"Here," he said as he placed the basin on the trunk next to the steaming tea cup. He dipped the rag and wrung it out then handed both the cloth and the nail tool to her.

"Thank you," she replied. As she took the items from him her thumb brushed against the palm of his hand and he withdrew his hand abruptly as if she had burned him.

Ignoring his recoil she used the damp cloth and nail tool and scrubbed and picked until her hands were cleaned and raw and red.

He plucked the items from her and deposited them back into the basin of water outside of her reach on the oriental trunk. "There now. It is done. If you clean your hands any harder you'll simply wear them down to the bone."

Sophie tucked her hands out of sight on the coverlet as best as she could and she watched him as he picked up the tea cup and handed it to her carefully.

Its brown contents were certainly innocuous looking enough that it appeared to be a simple and unassuming cup of tea. But as she lifted it to her face a hint of something earthy and the appearance of sediment along the bottom set her at unease.

"What is this?" she asked.

"Tea," he replied, "with herbs to help the pain and speed your healing."

Briefly she thought about whether or not the cup may contain poison or something equally as nefarious, but Sophie quickly realized that it would be a ridiculous notion. Why would this man, or phantom as he called himself, save her only to murder her later in his home?

Sophie resolved to do the most unusual thing then, and in a typical fashion for Sophie, without too much forethought. She decided to trust this strange man who had saved her life.

And before she could think about it too much longer she raised the cup to her lips and drank the contents down. She rolled her tongue against the backs of her teeth as she grimaced and tried to get rid of the aftertaste that lingered in her mouth.

"Oh that's bitter," she complained.

His lips twitched in the briefest of nearly invisible smirks again as he took the empty china cup from her, this time making sure their hands would not touch. "Yes, well... it is better if it's hot. You took so long to clean your hands. I'm quite certain that it tasted vile," he teased

A flash of irritation came and went across her face as Sophie snapped her attention back to the masked man who was towering over her. He'd saved her life, and now she felt indebted to him. She should be kind and pleasant, even if he was not, or even if he didn't deserve it. She bit her tongue and contemplated her retort then settled on a mere "thank you," as she proceeded to ignore him in order to pull a pillow from behind her head and fluff it.

An awkward silence filled the room until Sophie felt as if she was going to crawl out of her skin. Sophie eyed the man who was watching her as if he was waiting for something important to occur.

"Did you study medicine, then? You seem to know so much about it," she said awkwardly, trying to fill in the silence that stood between them like an ocean.

His hand stroked the carved figurehead of the bed as he regarded her dispassionately, "I learned enough to keep myself alive. A few folk remedies here and there and some knowledge of battlefield first aid… just in case… it has proved useful."

He told her stories of his study of herbal remedies in China and throughout the Middle East. He recounted tales of the various remedies and treatments which he had picked up along his travels, and he told her which of them had merit and which were merely superstition or local tradition. She let the sound of his honeyed voice wash over her as it lulled her into a state of relaxation. Her clasped hands relaxed upon the down feathered blankets and she was suddenly aware of how comfortable she had become. The ache that throbbed in her fractured leg subsided to a dull, constant feeling of discomfort that was much easier to ignore.

Sophie nodded mutely and was only half listening to his tale of the usefulness of turmeric for digestive problems when she felt her eyelids grow heavy. They fluttered closed, and then opening her eyes was becoming harder and taking longer, until eventually they closed and stayed shut and she drifted off to sleep.

Her auburn hair fanned out across the red silk pillows as she fell asleep to the sounds of the phantom's soothing voice.

Sophie awakened with a start as the bed shifted and a weight disturbed her slumber. She fought the sedative that she'd ingested earlier and when she opened her eyes she saw that the candles had burned down to nearly the stubs. The room was a little bit darker than before. She had been asleep for several hours then if some of the candles had burned this low.

She looked down and spied the thing which had disturbed her sleep. There, on the edge of the bed, was a cream cat with dark brown tipped ears, paws, and face. Most startling of all was the cat's brilliant crystal blue eyes which appeared even brighter through the mask of its brown muzzle.

"Oh!" Sophie exclaimed as she smiled. She loved cats. "Have you come to keep me company then?"

The cat appeared to consider her words and sauntered towards her across the bed. Sophie turned over her hand over and smiled as the cat sniffed her upturned palm and fingers. Apparently the cat approved of whatever it was that it smelled. The cat nuzzled its cheek against her fingers until Sophie raised her hand to scratch the cat behind her ears. She was rewarded with thick rumbling purrs. Sophie took pleasure in the deep vibrations radiating from within the cat. It was a comforting sound that made her feel less alone in this strange place below the opera house.

Apparently satisfied with the attention the cat settled down into the crook of Sophie's body and Sophie lazily gave her a few more pets before she drifted off to sleep again as the sounds of purring filled the otherwise quiet room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 3

Erik cursed himself for having been so foolish as to bring her here.

What had he been thinking? To bring her down here, below the opera house, into his home beyond the lake? Would he never learn his lesson? He watched the sleeping figure of the young woman before him. And he recalled the feeling of his punjab lasso as it tightened around the throats of the men who had attacked her. He recalled the feeling of power in his hands as they struggled against him until they went slack and lifeless. They'd seen him. And they'd attacked an innocent. They couldn't have been allowed to live.

He considered the girl's matter of fact acceptance of her attackers' fate when he had admitted to their deaths.

He had waited for her scream; in fact he was prepared for it. He resigned himself to it and waited for her to shout obscenities at him and call him a monster or a vile beast or a murderer as so many others had before.

But she hadn't screamed or railed against him. She hadn't cried or fainted.

Erik had not even realized that he was holding his breath while he waited for her damnation until the moment passed and then he remembered to breathe. Those men had clearly intended to do far worse to her. And their kind would not be missed. But people seemed so needlessly squeamish about the deaths of bad men. H remembered how they'd mourned Bouquet's death. Nevermind that the man had been a drunken fool who had liked to corner ballet girls and grope them in the dark against their will. Erik shrugged his shoulders even though there was no one to see him do so.

It was a Wednesday, Erik recalled. He had two more days to prepare for the Darogas weekly visit and subsequent lecturing. He could picture the old Persian man's look of disappointment as he envisioned the argument they'd have. Erik stopped to gather up the china cup and saucer and wash basin and then he padded silently across the room. He was careful not to disturb her sleeping figure. He used his elbow to part the nearly invisible seam in the curtains and he paused in his retreat to glance over his shoulder and steal one last look at her.

She looked like an angel sleeping there so peacefully with her auburn waves fanned out across the mound of pillows that decorated the swan bed of the Louis Philippe room.

Erik cursed himself again for his foolishness.

He crossed from room to room in his little cavern home as he placed the dishes in the wash basin of his rarely-used kitchen and grabbed his black hooded cloak from the peg on the wall. He had errands to run before the girl woke. It would be some hours before the effects of his medicine wore off. Until then, she would sleep peacefully. It would be enough time for him to accomplish what needed doing. After all, the bodies of two attempted rapists and murderers would not drop themselves into the Seine.

Erik paused briefly at his organ in order to swap out his white half mask for the less comfortable but more concealing black domino. He tied it tightly behind his head. This task required him to dress in shadows. He donned a black jacket and his thickest wool cloak and, now that he was armed against the weather and any prying eyes, Erik headed through the secret passageway behind the gilded mirror and went up into the frigid Parisian night.

The streets were empty in these late hours between midnight and dawn. The drunks and whores had long since found their way home to warm beds, and the early risers were not yet awake. It was Erik's favorite time of night; When everything was still and quiet, and the whole world slept except for him. It was the only time that Erik could wander the city in near absolute safety.

He moved down the street into a back alley off of the Rue Scribe. The little side alleyway that had once held the main secret entrance to his home had been abandoned since the fire closed the opera house's doors two years ago. Erik cursed the inconvenience.

He often wondered why he had chosen to stay. His pragmatic side said that the best hiding place was the last place where his enemies would expect to find him. And since the angry mob had already ransacked his little home across the lake, it would therefore be the last place that they looked for him.

His inner voice told him that it was his punishment for the way that things had gone completely and utterly wrong. That he should have to face the consequences of his decisions and live amongst the ashes of his ruined dreams.

The hand cart that he was searching for was hidden underneath blankets and between empty crates and barrels. Erik lifted the cloth to check that his charges were still where he had left them. Their expressionless, grey faces peered up at him in mockery with unseeing, clouded eyes. Their slack jawed mouths were half-open in wordless, gruesome screams.

Erik covered the bodies again and lifted the handles of the little cart. He headed South towards the river as silently as one could with wooden wheels rolling over uneven cobblestone and brick.

The walk was brisk and invigorating, or so Erik tried to convince himself. Mostly it was just cold. Snowflakes drifted around lazily in the wind and landed on his hair and forehead before they melted and slipped uncomfortably down his mask. He paused in his trek to adjust his hood again.

Erik was simply grateful that there was no one around to accost him along his way. He made good time and with a quick tipping of the cart and a shove against the stiffening joints and flesh of his two dead friends they were soon tumbling down into the murky waters below. Their bodies hit and gave a small splash before sinking below the water's surface, and then they were gone from sight.

His task completed, Erik threw the canvas cloth back into the cart and headed home.

The walk back was unobtrusive and in no time at all Erik had stashed the cart back into its spot in the abandoned alley and he made his way to the less accessible secret entrance around the corner.

He pulled the lit, flickering torch free from where he had left it in the damp and mossy stone wall and made his way down the familiar, steep staircase. His footsteps were cautious and even footed and his long legs made short work of the seemingly never ending stairs.

Upon entering his humble abode Erik paused. Something was not quite right. Something was not quite where he had left it. He scanned the room from left to right as he made his way through it but he could not put his finger on what was different.

His eyes alit on the curtain dividing the Louis Philippe room from the living area. He crossed the room silently and with trepidation pulled the curtain aside.

Yet there she was. Just as he had left her.

Erik paused and cocked his head. Well, not quite as he'd left her.

His lips pursed in curiosity with a twinge of jealousy, and and an equal measure of disbelief, as he gazed at her sleeping, supine form on the bed.

His standoffish and oftentimes vicious Siamese cat was curled up in a ball on the girl's midsection. The cat lifted her head at Erik's entrance and her icy blue eyes met Erik's amber gaze with an imperious and haughty look. Ayesha made a show of stretching her long limbs and yawning as she bared her sharp teeth before she blinked lazily and curled back into a ball.

Erik cocked an eyebrow behind the black domino mask and watched as the cat tucked her head back into her tail and resumed her nap upon the girl's makeshift lap.

Letting the curtain fall free Erik stood dumbfounded for a moment before regaining his composure and returning to the tasks at hand. He glanced at his pocket watch and noted the time. The effects of the medicated tea would be wearing off shortly. By his estimations she'd awaken in an hour or two. And then he'd have a guest who would probably want to break her fast. Erik was accustomed to going hours or even days without food when the mood took him. But the Daroga had scolded him enough times in the years that they'd known each other so that he knew that this was not the case for most people. And he was again reminded of the few brief times that Christine had stayed with him, and their strained, and awkward meals together.

He paused again by the organ and replaced his black mask with the white half-mask. It fit flush and perfect against his face and he sighed in relief when he was returned back to normal. Erik hung his damp wool coat back up on its peg and stripped the black overcoat from his frame. He folded it neatly and laid it on the seat of his organ. And then he strode into the kitchen to wash the stink of corpses from his hands.

Cleaned and ready, Erik filled his Persian samovar with water and scooped the loose tea leaves from their tin into the little basket that was nestled inside. And then closed the lid and set it to a boil on top of his little gas stove.

He gathered up a silver tray from the cupboard set about making a tray of food for his…. guest. He sliced cured sausage into hearty chunks and cut hard cheese into thin slices and arranged them next to a little crystal dish of marinated olive spread. He found an old baguette in the back of his panty and sliced it into little discs. He toasted the bread slices along the edge of the Samovar's flame and placed dried plums into another little dish. It was the best that he could accomplish at this time until the Daroga arrived with more supplies.

Erik took a few bites of food for himself, sampling everything to ensure its palatability. He stuffed a dried plum into his mouth and savored its sweetness in between sips of rich Persian tea.

That task now done he crossed the room to pick up his violin and perching on the seat's edge of his little velvet sofa he began to play an old folk song that he'd learned as a small child.

Time passed and Erik wasn't sure how long he'd sat there playing. Music had a way of distracting him more than anything else. Song would always be his first mistress. But soon his attention was pulled away by the sounds of stirring from the direction of the Louis Philippe room. Erik put the violin down on the side table, took up the tray from the small kitchen, and poured a cup of hot, strong tea into a fine china cup.

He picked up the tray and balanced it carefully on one palm as crossed the cavern and brought it to his guest.


	4. Chapter 4

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 4

This time when Sophie awakened she did so with full clarity of the previous events. She heard the sounds of violin playing cease as soon as she shifted her weight in the bed. She looked about the room for her furry friend but saw that the cat had long since abandoned her.

She reached back and adjusted the pillows behind herself so that she was able to prop herself up into more of a sitting position. Sounds of footsteps sounded and she didn't have long to wait before the man who had saved her appeared once more. He pulled the curtain away from the carved earthen walls, much to her surprise, by using hidden hooks and pulleys that were mounted into the ceiling.

He walked in wearing the same clothes as before; a white linen shirt with an open neck and fitted black pants that were tucked into black leather boots. The white mask was still fitted into place on one side of his face just as it was before. This time he stood before her with a tray held aloft in one hand, and as he set it down on the edge of the bed she saw that it held little white china plates and crystal bowls of food and a steaming cup of rich, brown tea. Her stomach rumbled loudly at the sight and Sophie realized then how famished she truly was. How many hours had passed since her ordeal? Too many, by far.

"I've brought your breakfast," he said as he set the tray down on the edge of the bed and arranged it all within her reach. He crossed the little room again and perched himself on one of the larger steamer trunks.

Sophie rubbed the sleep from her eyes and brushed her unruly hair from her face as she picked up the delicate silver fork and stabbed a piece of sausage. She chewed it carefully and closed her eyes while she savored the delicious sage spiced meat. Sophie couldn't recall the last time that she'd had such a feast. Any meat that was served on her plate was unusually given to Emma. She ate neatly until her plate was clean and then she sat back with a sigh of contentment and sipped on the cup of tea. It was sweetened with a little sugar this time, and it was completely without the aftertaste of bitter herbs.

"Thank you," she said politely, "have you already eaten, then?"

He nodded and asked, "how are you feeling?"

She sat up straighter in the bed and carefully shifted her injured leg. There was only a dull ache and a slight twinge as long as she kept her foot flat and did not twist or flex her ankle.

"It still hurts," she replied, "but it is much better than before. Thank you."

"May I see?" he asked in a soothing voice.

Sophie paused until she realized that it was nothing more than he'd already seen. After all, he was the one who had set her leg in the first place. And if he'd had any ulterior motives then he'd had ample opportunity to take advantage of her. She nodded and pulled the massive mound of blankets aside and bared her injured leg to him.

He rose from his impromptu seat on the trunk as he came around the bed and perched himself on the very edge of the mattress.

She watched as his gaze roamed her battered, bruised, and broken leg. When his fingers reached out to run lightly over the length of her shin she winced only slightly in pain. He was quick and gentle as he probed the splint with his cold, long fingers.

"It appears to be straight and in place now. I think that it was a clean break and now that it is aligned and held together it will knit together nicely. Can you still move everything?" he asked her.

Her toes fanned and then curled as she wiggled them with ease. "Yes, that seems fine."

He ran a finger up the underside of her foot and Sophie had to restrain herself from jerking her leg or kicking him in response.

He chuckled under his breath. "And no loss of sensation. Good. It will heal. I doubt that you will even have much difficulty walking again once it has fully healed."

Sophie sucked in her breath and let it out slowly. She hadn't even considered the idea that she might never walk again. But now that she had Sophie found it to be the most frightening part of this entire ordeal.

She took a deep breath and cleared her head and met his gaze again.

"How long will it take to heal?" she asked.

He glanced at her leg again and took a moment to consider it. "Two or three months so long as you take it easy and allow it to heal properly. The bones are fragile while they are reconnecting," he explained.

Sophie wondered how her little family would survive without her meager income. Her face paled as her lips pressed together into a thin and worried line. Her eyes pricked with tears that she forced back. Crying would not change her situation. She brushed her hair back from her face and took a deep, calming breath.

"When will I be able to return to my family?" She asked once she had calmed herself.

The phantom stilled and tensed beside her. "Never," he replied sternly, "you can never return above."

Sophie stared at him as her eyes widened in disbelief. "What do you mean?" she asked with a voice that trembled.

He stood from the bed and towered over her with his large, imposing frame. "Now that you know of my little home below the opera house you may never leave this place," he commanded.

Her mouth dropped open in shock as she stared at him before her face contorted in anger. "You can't keep me here against my will!" she yelled at him.

He turned and moved away from her until his hand found the seam in the curtains, and as he stepped through the room's divider he cast one last glance at her over his shoulder. His voice seemed to fill the very room around them, "you will never leave this place."

Sophie grabbed one of the little pillows from her bed and threw it at his retreating back. It hit the curtain and fell harmlessly to the cold stone floor. Her anger turned to grief and she was consumed by it as a sob tore from her. Suddenly she was crying uncontrollably as the weight of everything came crashing down onto her. Sophie threw herself fully onto the bed as she grabbed a little pillow and hugged it to her chest and cried.

She poured out all of her grief and rage and fear and she could not have told you how much time had passed as she grieved. She cried until she felt that she could not find another single tear, but then she always found more. Thoughts of her flowers wilting in her unattended greenhouse, as Emma grew hungry and cold filled her head. Memories of the men who had attacked her and chased her to this Hell flooded her with rage. And the idea that her fate rested in the hands of this masked man filled her with fear. He had saved her, only to condemn her to this half-life below ground, and she did not understand it.

Sophie ignored the sounds of music coming from whatever lay beyond the curtain divider. The notes of angry organ playing filled the room and her head until she wanted to scream in frustration. Time did not exist in this little damp cave where there was no window to tell if it was night or day, and no clock or the the sound of church bells to mark the passing of the hours.

She laid there in a pool of sheets until finally she had no more tears to shed. Sophie hugged the pillow tighter to her chest and she was surprised when the little cat jumped up onto the bed beside her.

"Oh!" she exclaimed in surprise, "you startled me. You are as quiet as your master."

The cat gave her a dirty look as if she understood Sophie's words and resented the idea of ownership. Sophie understood the sentiment completely.

But when Sophie reached out to pet her soft fur the cat closed her eyes in pleasure and kneaded the sheets with her sharp little claws. Then, tucking herself into the crook of Sophie's arms, the girl and the cat both settled down. Sophie took comfort in the little soft, warm body that was tucked under her chin, and worn out from all of the tears and the throbbing pain in her broken leg, she escaped into slumber.

She awoke some time later with the little cat still tucked peacefully into her side. Sophie ran a hand down the cat's back and smiled when the cat stretched her legs out and exposed her belly. As she ran gentle fingers over the exposed fur Sophie delighted in the cat's deep rumbling purr.

If she shifted carefully in the bed Sophie was able to manage a sitting position near the edge. The cat curled back into a ball on the bed and resumed her sleep. She scooted to the very edge of the bed and carefully let her legs drop over the side until her toes touched the floor. Her leg twinged but the pain was bearable. She strained to listen for any sounds that might betray the masked man's presence but the cave was eerily silent.

"Hello…" she called out and listened for any sort of response. A moment passed and Sophie was not sure what was worse, that he would come, or that she would be left alone here below the Earth and far from the world's notice.

A moment later the curtain parted and the phantom stepped warily into the room. They stared at each other in silence for a brief time before Sophie averted her gaze.

"Do you have a wash room?" she asked.

He nodded and crossed the room until he was at her side. He extended his hand and waited until she reached up and took it. The phantom hauled her to her feet and grasped her securely by the arm when she wobbled and fell into him.

Sophie was able to manage a somewhat steady hobbling gait by leaning into the phantom's side and keeping her broken splinted leg aloft. If only her toes touched the ground then she was able to walk if she was slow and careful and took small steps. Together they made their way towards the curtain, which the phantom parted with ease with a quick tug on the rope pull that was suspended from the cavern wall. The curtains pulled away and revealed the rest of the phantom's little underground home. Sophie stared in wonder at what she saw. His home was a large open chamber that had been carved out from the bedrock below Paris itself, and was now filled to the brim with his possessions. She saw a sea of golden candelabras spread out on every surface, and in every nook and cranny, and their softly glowing candles filled the cavern with an incandescent light. Lines of red drapery divided the otherwise open space into little sections. To her right was a raised dais with a pipe organ whose surface was covered in scattered pieces of sheet music. And to her left was a little seating area with a small sofa and a little wood stove. The long metal chimney rose up to the ceiling and disappeared somewhere above. Large gilded mirrors were scattered about the place. Some of them were cracked or shattered and as Sophie and the phantom passed them she saw their distorted, warped reflection in return.

Sheet music and other various papers lay scattered and forgotten all about the room. And the entire little cave was surrounded by water, most curiously, on all of its three exposed sides. The little island of a home appeared as if it had simply risen up from the lake one day quite by accident and already fully furnished.

Sophie had heard the rumors of the hidden lake beneath the opera house. Until the events of two years ago she had dismissed them as just stories. She had seen the sensationalized tabloids and heard the whispered rumors as customers passed her in the streets, but Sophie had always dismissed them as fantasy. But then news of the Soprano's capture, and the subsequent manhunt for the singer, and then the girl's disappeared fiance had spread across all of Paris. And then the opera house caught fire and set Paris ablaze in righteous fury.

All of Paris was enraged at the loss of their opera house and rising soprano to the machinations of a mad man. The loss of both was too much for the city to bear. And then the disappearance of the young Viscount brought the city's anger to a head. Mobs of people searched the opera house and surrounding parts of town for days. But then the young couple had turned up a few days later, unharmed and now happily married, and then some new scandal broke and turned Paris' attention away. Everything was forgotten as time moved on and the burned opera house was left in its state of disrepair.

Sophie's leg ached as she tried to keep it from touching the floor. Their progress was slow and difficult. But with his help Sophie managed to hobble across the room. He paused at a section of drapery covered wall and pulled it aside to reveal a private little wash room cut directly into the rockface. There was a proper water closet inside with a little toilette and a pedestal stand with a porcelain basin and water pitcher. A large clawfoot tub stood at the other end of the room next to a small shelf filled with glass vials of various substances. Candles lit this space too and she pondered how much time it must take the phantom to keep all of the candles in his home constantly ablaze. She turned her head head and noticed that there was no mirror here and she found this strange because there were mirrors everywhere else inside his little home.

"I will bring you some water for washing," he said as he took up the porcelain pitcher and left her there leaning against the wash basin.

Sophie took advantage of his absence to set about her business quickly. It was awkward to sit with the use of just one good leg but she managed it and she only almost lost her balance once.

Standing was much harder than sitting. Sophie barely managed to rise but she hurried to settle her skirts when she heard the phantom's footsteps on the other side of the bath room's curtain.

He cleared his throat to announce his presence.

"Come in," she called.

The phantom pushed the curtain aside and entered the small chamber. He placed a small wooden stool and a pile of clothing inside the room.

Without a word he left and returned a moment later with the porcelain pitcher, now filled with steaming hot water, and a stack of wash rags. He set these on the wash stand and instructed her to call out to him when she was finished.

Sophie was grateful to sit down on the little stool and shed her ripped and dirty dress. She had not realized just how disgusting she felt until she unlaced her gown and pulled it over her head. Her corset and chemise followed next. Standing up for a moment she pulled the drawstring of her pantalettes loose and let them drop onto the floor as well.

She searched through the shelf of little vials and jars until she found a slice of rose scented soap. Sophie poured a splash of the hot water into the porcelain basin and lathered up a wash rag with soap and set about cleaning herself.

It felt glorious to clean the dirt and grime from her body. She scrubbed her face and neck and then each limb taking note of the various bruises and scrapes that she uncovered. She twisted to assess the damage that she had incurred and she saw the mess of purple bruises along her ribs. No wonder her whole body ached. Next she found a little bristled brush next to a pot of tooth powder. Was it his? Would he mind if she used it? But the aftertaste of the bitter herbs was still in her mouth. So she dipped the toothbrush into the powder and she happily scrubbed the grime from her teeth. She looked at and smelled the other little vials of various liquids but was reticent to try them without knowing their contents. Who knew what insidious things this strange man might keep in plain sight. She stoppered the last vial tightly and placed it back where it belonged. A chill made her shiver and goosebumps pebbled her arms despite the general warmth of the cavern.

Sophie noticed now that the clothing that he had brought her was luxurious. She also noticed that it was a woman's garment. She picked up the gauzy white linen chemise and felt its soft, transparent material that was edged in delicate lace. She pulled it on over her head. Its hem hit her modestly just above the ankle and she wondered if the garment had been picked out for the soprano who had disappeared onstage, and then returned three days later as a Viscomtesse. Why else would the phantom have a stash of women's clothing and possessions? The thin material left little to the imagination wherever the candlelight cast its glow and Sophie blushed at the insinuation.

She eyed her discarded corset but decided to leave it off. Her ribs ached too much from her fall to convince herself to put it on again.

The next garment that she donned was a thick forest green dressing gown. The cuffs and lapels were embroidered with twisting vines and blood red roses in various stages of bloom. The garments were not quite her size but they would do. She must have been a little shorter and broader in the shoulders than whoever the clothing was originally intended for. But Sophie was grateful for its warmth and modesty as she belted it tightly around her narrow waist. It puddled on the ground behind her in a tiny train. She eyed a pair of matching green slippers but couldn't decide on how to bend to put them on without tumbling to the ground.

" _Monsieur_?" she called out tentatively. Sophie refused to call him phantom. It felt too ridiculous to say.

He was there a moment later.

She held the slippers up and said, "I can not put these on with the splint the way that it is now."

He took the slippers from her and then extended out his arm and with his help they made their way slowly to the little velvet couch. "Sit here," he commended as he helped her down onto the sofa.

Sophie watched as he disappeared into an alcove on the far side of the room. When he had disappeared from sight she turned her attention to the seating area. Next to the sofa was a little end table upon which sat a tiny metal tree in an earthen pot.

As she picked up the little tree she was surprised by its weight. It was far heavier than she had expected. She heard clinking and rattling sounds in the distance and glanced up for a moment but he had not yet returned. So she turned her attention back to the little metal potted tree. Sophie turned it over in her hands and noticed a small brass winding key that stuck out from the bottom.

As she wound the key she heard gears moving into place, and then a beautiful little tune began to play. Sophie stared in wide-eyed amazement as the tree's leaves unfurled into little pink flowers and a jaunty yellow songbird appeared from a slot in one of the thicker branches. She watched the clockwork piece in wonder until the bird and flowers disappeared back into leaves and the song wound down again.

Sophie turned it over and wound the key again. She watched its clockwork mechanism and tried to discover how it worked. She was not paying attention as the phantom returned from his task and sat next to her while she turned it over again in her hands.

"This is amazing," she said as her fingers brushed lightly over the delicate, painted leaves.

"Thank you," the masked man said then cleared his throat and held out a cup of steaming tea to her.

Sophie placed the clockwork toy on her lap and cradled it in her lap with one hand while she reached out with her other hand to take the teacup from him. The now familiar scent of medication filled her senses as she lifted it to her nose and inhaled. Her eyebrow quirked in wordless questioning.

"The splint on your leg is not a permanent solution," he explained. "It needs mending."

She nodded and lifted the teacup to her mouth as she drank it down in one gulp, and scrunched her face in disgust at the taste. She noticed that he was right, however, that the medicinal tea was much more palatable when it was fresh and hot. She handed the empty cup back to the man and returned her attention to the curiosity of the metal clockwork tree in her lap. Her thumb traced the engraved metal trunk of the little mechanical tree.

"I have never seen such a thing before. How does it work?" she asked him.

The phantom took the empty teacup from her and set it aside. "There are gears inside, just like a clock. They fit together and turn several mechanisms. It is simple enough once one knows how such things fit together. I learned the skill when I was a boy in Italy."

Sophie studied the tree some more then raised her gaze to the man who sat opposite her on the sofa.

"You made this?" she asked incredulously. She looked at it once again, then turned back to him, "It's beautiful."

He took it from her hands and set it aside on the little table. "Your leg…" he murmured as he reached out to help her lift it onto the little couch in between them. She tried to fight the blush that creeped up her cheeks as she lifted the hem of her dressing gown and chemise.

Sophie winced but held still as his fingers probed the splint again.

"Hmm… yes. I have some plaster left. That should do it nicely," he mumbled to himself.

She nodded mutely and watched his as he rose and gathered his materials. He rummaged about in crates and drawers and then returned to their little couch with his arms laden with supplies.

Sophie watched him as he mixed the plaster dust with water in a glass bowl. He took a bolt of undyed muslin cloth and ripped it into strips, then soaked them in the plaster. With great care he took her leg into his lap and took down the makeshift leather splint. He wrapped her leg all of the way around in strips of plain muslin, then laid the cool strips of plaster soaked cloth around her bandaged leg. He took the splint apart and wove the metal supports into place around her calf then wrapped it all again with even more plaster soaked cloths.

The pain was tremendous as he manipulated her leg. Sophie bit her lip to keep from crying out and buried her face in the velvet backed sofa. But soon enough the medicated tea was taking its effect and Sophie felt her eyelids drifting shut.

The feeling of his long fingers running up and down her plastered leg was soothing now as the roaring ache of her broken leg settled into a distant, throbbing pain. She pressed her face again into the back of the velvet couch and tried to fight the tea's effects. But the side effects could not be avoided, and she was drifting back into slumber where she sat. The last thing that Sophie remembered was the feeling of the phantom's two strong arms picking her up and cradling her to his chest before he carried her back into the little bedroom and placed her gently down upon the bed. She curled onto her side and cradled her face upon her hand as she drifted down into slumber once more.


	5. Chapter 5

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 5

Hours must have passed although, if pressed to do so, Sophie could not have said how many had actually come and gone. There was no way for her to mark the hour or determine time's passing down in the phantom's underground home. She felt as if she were adrift in time and she wondered how her family fared in her absence. Surely they had noticed her missing by now. Oftentimes when the summer sun baked Paris in its golden glow Sophie had stayed out quite late into the midnight hours, but winters were dark and cold and Sophie had never failed to return home before.

A knot of dread settled in her stomach as she contemplated the fear that must now consume her mother and sister. She licked her parched lips in nervousness and rubbed her face. Her soul felt as swollen and bruised as her eyes were from crying. Sophie was exhausted of feeling so afraid.

Her stomach rumbled loudly in the quiet of the cavern room and Sophie realized then that several hours must have passed since breakfast.

The sound of steps echoed from outside of the room and drew Sophie's attention from herself as once again the masked man approached the little bedroom. Wordlessly he crossed the little bedchamber to the chest of drawers and pulled out a burgundy bundle of clothing from the stack. Unfolding it and shaking the garment of its wrinkles he threw it haphazardly upon her bed.

"You will dress for dinner," he commanded.

Sophie stared at him with wide eyes as her lips parted in surprise.

"I'm not a doll to be ordered about and dressed to please you!" she yelled at him.

Perhaps it was foolish to yell at the man who had saved her life, burned down an entire opera house, and taken the lives of several men. But Sophie's temper had always seemed to sharpen her tongue at the most inopportune of moments and she often spoke without thinking.

The phantom narrowed his eyes at her and Sophie fought to quell the resulting stirrings of fear. She was tired of feeling afraid. She matched his narrow gaze with her own.

He spread his hands out in front of him then and smiled wickedly, "then you can starve, _mademoiselle_."

Sophie shook her head in disbelief, "I don't understand you... I don't understand what it is that you want from me."

His gaze slid away from her, "what I want is for you to dress for dinner."

He clasped his hands behind his back and turned to walk away.

"Ask nicely," she whispered hesitantly.

The stiffening of his shoulders was her only sign that he had heard her. Upon his exit from the bedchamber he paused at the pull cord for the dividing curtains. He grasped it and tugged and the curtains slid shut. He'd left her, but still she heard the echo of his voice in the room.

"Please," the voice whispered all around her.

She let out a breath that she hadn't known she'd been holding and ran fingers quickly through her tangled hair before she picked up the burgundy gown and inspected it.

It was gloriously charming. The dress was made from thick taffeta and the fabric caught the candlelight with a subdued gleam. The scoop necked bodice was edged in a delicate ruffle of black beaded trim. The sleeves were tapered until just past the elbow before they spilled openly into delicate black French lace that trailed down to her wrists. The skirts were a little long and had a tiny train but it appeared modest and manageable.

Sophie laid the gown back onto the bed and scooted to the swan bed's figurehead. She leaned on it for support and was able to stand without much difficulty. The act of actually dressing herself was harder because it necessitated that she balance on her one good leg while at the same time leaning against the bed frame for support.

As quickly as possible Sophie shed the green sleeping wrapper and pulled the burgundy gown over her head. It settled into place easily and she deftly buttoned up the line of covered, hidden buttons down the front. Without the proper petticoats and stays the fit was not quite right but it would do. The bodice was a little narrow for her frame and the skirts a little long, but it was not too uncomfortable to wear. Sophie chose to ignore how the tight bodice pushed her breasts into display.

She ran her fingers down the length of the wrinkled fabric and marveled at it. The gown reminded her of the finely dressed ladies who strolled with their beau's around the Tuileries and drank coffee at the cafes with friends. She had always envied them and their beautiful things.

Sophie was not quite certain why the reminiscence suddenly filled her with sadness. She took a deep calming breath and focused on its exhale. Now was not the time for frivolity. Certain now that her emotions were better under control she sat back down on the bed and focused on her hair.

It was horribly knotted and tangled. Sophie used her fingers to unknot the worst of it and left it down her back. Without pins or a hair comb there was not much else that she could do with it.

" _Monsieur_..." she called out when she was done, and realized that she did not know the phantom's name. Did phantoms even have names? But he was a man and he must have one.

A minute or two passed, and then she heard his footsteps and the curtain slid open.

She noticed that he had changed as well. In place of the informal white ruffled shirt and plain black pants he stood before her now in a formal three piece suit of black on black. Only a peak of his white undershirt at the collar and the white half mask provided relief against the starkness of the dark fabric.

They looked at each other in mutual inspection before the phantom strode beside her and offered her his arm. Together they made their way slowly across his home, and he led her to an alcove of the cavern which she had not seen before. It contained an ebony wooden dining set with four carved chairs and it too was covered in golden candelabras and dripping beeswax candles. Small covered plates were scattered about the table. He pulled her chair back for her and helped her to seat, and then he took the seat opposite from her so that they were facing one another.

Sophie stared at him across the table as he uncovered the little silver dishes. He poured her a glass of sweet white wine that tasted of apricots and honey. She served herself at his insistence but paused when she noticed that he did not do the same.

"You are not eating?" she asked hesitantly when she noticed that his place setting remained empty.

His fingers reached upwards to touch the mask before he appeared to catch himself.

"It is... difficult… in front of others. But please, eat," he urged her.

She returned her attention to her plate and she ate in awkward silence while he watched. When she had finished she folded her napkin and laid it down neatly and drank down the rest of her wine.

Satiated by the meal and emboldened by the wine Sophie blurted out, "I don't even know you're name."

The phantom stared at her and quirked a brow.

"It's Erik," he replied.

"Erik…" she mumbled to herself, "I'm Sophie… I suppose that we should get better acquainted now since I'm to be your prisoner for eternity." She locked her eyes with his in silent challenge, and she was startled when he chuckled deeply.

"My dear…" he replied in his deep honeyed voice, "I have actually been a prisoner, and I assure you that your bars are much more comfortable than mine were."

Sophie studied him and waited for him to continue and was confused when instead he rose and pulled her gently from her chair.

"Come. We shall sit by the fire and I will play a jaunty tune for the little caged bird," he teased.

She frowned at his mockery of her but let him lead her to the sitting area, and she watched as he stoked a small fire in the little wood burning stove. Sophie sat on the velvet couch and watched him as pulled a violin from its case. The phantom set it to his neck and began to play.

True to his word he started with a cheerful melody. Sophie watched, entranced, as he skillfully played. She'd heard many musicians and singers before. Artists flooded the streets of Paris in the summer as they played in exchange for money from those who were passing by. But Sophie had never heard music like this before. It was ephemeral- familiar... and yet completely different.

She was utterly captivated.

Erik played and merged one song into another. And Sophie felt herself go from the height of one emotion to the depths of the next. When his violin slowed to a sad and melancholy tune Sophie felt the hot tears as they ran down her face and dropped into her lap. The song brought feelings of loneliness and grief and loss over her separation from her loved ones to the surface, and she found that she could no longer stem the flow of tears once they had started.

His playing stopped as he noticed her crying there softly beside him.

Embarrassed at being so vulnerable in front of this man she ducked her face and furiously tried to wipe the tears away. When she'd calmed herself enough to speak she did so quietly. "I'd like to return to bed now _monsieur_ ," she whispered.

The phantom set the violin aside and helped her rise and hobble to the Louis Philippe room. With his assistance she sat on the bed. But Sophie did not release his arm. Her fingers pressed into the fabric as she grasped him almost desperately.

"Erik… please let me go. My family will starve without me. I couldn't bear it," she pleaded with him.

"You'd be surprised what one can bear in order to survive," he quipped unsympathetically. "I, for one, am always finding new lows that I can stoop to... and still continue onwards."

She craned her head to look up at him as he towered over her. Sophie cast her pleading eyes up at him and tried to hold her glistening tears at bay but one slipped from the corner.

"I won't breathe a word of you, or this place. I won't tell a soul," she promised.

Erik studied her with an impassive and stony expression. "I've had my fill of women's broken promises. My answer is unchanged," he replied, indifferent sounding.

Sophie's lip quivered as she let his arm go and her eyes followed him as he backed away from her and the bedroom. "I must ask. and hope that one day the answer does change," she replied evenly.

He withdrew from the room until the curtain was at his back, and he pulled the two halves aside as he took a step back between them. "Then I must disappoint you every day. See there? The cast is set, and now we have our roles. I'll play the villain once more," his honeyed voice dripped with venom.

Sophie watched as he disappeared behind the curtain and she was left alone once more. She collapsed onto the bed and buried her face in a little red pillow and wept.


	6. Chapter 6

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 6

Erik felt his hands trembling at his sides as he left the Louis Philippe room. The sounds of Sophie's muffled crying rattled around inside of his mind. He fought the urge to grab the nearest thing and smash it to pieces. It wouldn't do to frighten the poor girl further.

He was so very tired of playing the villain. He was so very tired of playing the role of the monster. He had played that role for Giovani and lovely, spoiled Luciana, the dreadful, wicked Khanum, and for his beloved, sweet Christine. It grated on his very last nerve.

Erik felt like a tightly wound spring that would tear a path in its wake at the slightest provocation. He felt the need to pour his frustrations into something productive. Erik stalked back to his violin and played the rest of the piece he'd been showing the girl.

Hours passed like minutes, as they so often did when these dark, tempest moods overtook him. When at last he resurfaced from its grip Erik checked his pocket watch and saw that it was now well past midnight. He placed the violin back into its case and latched it shut. He was restless still even after all of that. It appeared that tonight was to be yet another sleepless night.

Erik strode into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of half-drunk wine from the cupboard.

He pulled the cork free and drank it down quickly.

Erik had never been much for drinking but he would have given anything at that moment to forget about the past. But the past was never something from which he could escape or outrun. It followed him and haunted him constantly, like a bloodhound nipping at the heels of its terrified prey.

His senses were dulled now thanks to the wine, and his years of anguish, and loss, and hurt lost the sharp and brittle edges that poked and jabbed at him. Erik trudged across his home until he stood just outside of the Louis Philippe room. His hand pulled the curtain drapery aside just enough for him to see her without being seen in return.

She looked so peaceful laying there in the mound of red silk sheets. Her tear stained face had dried and sleep had calmed the anguish from her beautiful face. He felt the all too familiar feelings of longing and desire roar to life inside himself and his attempts to tamp it down were futile. Silently he cursed himself. A fool, indeed. Apparently he'd never learn than fire burned.

Ayesha lay curled up next to Sophie in the bed- the girl's silent sentinel. The little dark muzzled cat raised her sleepy head and her bright blue eyes met his golden ones. Erik wavered and swayed on his feet in the threshold. The little cat twitched her nose sniffed at the air between them and hissed a warning at him.

Erik's eyes widened in shock. Even his cat was less of a fool than him. " _Et tu, Brute_?" he muttered beneath his breath but the little Siamese cat ignored him and laid her head back down to sleep.

He took one last look at Sophie and committed the picture of her laying there, asleep in his bed, to memory, and then he let the curtain fall between them.

He let the curtain drop closed and turned from the little alcove of a bedroom as he stumbled his way to his work space and rummaged through a large pile of discarded supplies. He searched through his bits of lumber until his fingers found a long, thin piece of cherry. It was broken at one end which was why it had been discarded. But perhaps it could be useful now? He pulled it from the pile and eyed it studiously through the haze of alcohol that dulled his senses.

His long fingers ran up and down the length of the wood and found that it was straight, and solid, and he was satisfied in his find. He retrieved a sharp knife from one of the desk's drawers. Erik roughly hacked it into shape until its form finally emerged. Yes, it was perfect.


	7. Chapter 7

**Persephone Unchained  
** Chapter 7

Sophie stretched in bed as she awakened and she was startled when her good foot hit something solid. She sat up on her elbows to see if she had accidentally kicked the cat who had been sleeping with her, and she was puzzled by what she saw instead. There was a dark wooden cane laid across the foot of the bed.

She reached down and picked it up. As she turned it over in her hands she studied its design. The cane's dark polished wood was ornamented by an elaborate, carved handle. The pattern was floral in nature with a rounded handle that had an engraved rose motif which circled the knob. It was smooth to the touch and its polished finish gleamed in the candlelight.

Sophie scooted to the edge of the bed and tested the cane. She found it much easier to stand and move about with its support. And it was the perfect height for her. The cane made a faint tapping sound against the cold stone floor, but with it she was able to stand from the bed.

Carefully she took a test walk around the bed. Sophie made certain to always stay within a hand's breadth of the bed in case her injured leg failed her. Her muscles felt weakened but it was not entirely unpleasant and after feeling so helpless for the last two days it was invigorating to regain some independence. So long as Sophie was cautious and slow she was able to manage it.

With her newfound independence Sophie hobbled over to the chest of drawers and dug out the green wrapper. In her exhaustion she had never changed from the burgundy gown and she could only hope that the beautiful dress was not completely rumpled.

Her fingers made fast work of the buttons and she was able to change garments quickly. Sophie tied the green dressing gown over the gauze chemise, then folded the burgundy gown and put it away in the trunk.

A quick search of the various drawers yielded an ivory hairbrush and comb set and a collection of hair ribbons and pins in a variety of colors. She ran her thumb down the soft collection of velvet and satin ribbons and fingered the crystal tipped hair pins before she chose a simple green ribbon.

With her selection in hand she managed the short distance to the bed. Her hair was a mess of snarls and knots. Sophie felt as if half of her hair would be missing by the time that she finished brushing it. With practiced hands she braided it quickly.

Walking with the cane over walking longer distances took Sophie some practice to manage. By the time she made it out to the little couch she was covered in a fine layer of sweat from the exertion. As she rounded the velvet sofa she was startled to see that Erik was already occupying it.

His long, lean frame took up the whole of the sofa and then some as his feet dangled freely over the edge. The man's normally pristine clothes were rumpled and speckled in sawdust and small curls of wood shavings were trapped in the cuffs at his wrists.

Sophie gaze flickered between his sleeping form and her cane. She glanced about the cavern and had a sudden realization that she'd never considered where he had been sleeping during all this time. A wave of guilt washed over her. She'd taken his bed from him. She'd yelled at him last night, and then he'd carved her a cane to help her walk. Perhaps he just didn't want to have to help her walk all the time? He looked exhausted.

She leaned her weight against the arm of the sofa and set her came aside as she reached to the back of the sofa and pulled down the threadbare quilt that was draped over it. Very gently, and with great care not to stir him, she settled the blanket over his sleeping form.

He looked so peaceful sleeping there on the sofa before her. There was a certain tightness to the visible portion of his face which was absent in his sleep. She noticed that he wore his mask even in his sleep and she wondered if that was for her benefit or if he simply never removed it at all.

It must be such a lonely life. The sudden realization hit Sophie in that moment as she watched him as he slept. She studied him a little while longer before she moved to retrieve her cane and hobbled slowly to the bathing chamber.

Once her morning ablutions were attended to she returned to the sitting area and found that he had gone… somewhere… in that short time. She looked about the cavern but didn't see him anywhere.

Sophie stood in the candlelit cave and felt bereft. The feeling of uselessness surprised and overwhelmed her. Now that she had a glimmer of her independence again she realized that she had nowhere to go and nothing to do. This was not a feeling that Sophie was familiar with. For as long as she could remember she had been struggling to do what little she could to help her family. And now that there were no expectations of her. She could do anything that she wanted with the exception of leaving. Instead of feeling free, she felt purposeless and useless.

With her cane to support her she wandered and explored the cave and found the tiny kitchen with the strangest teapot that she'd ever seen, the dining set where they had eaten, the organ on the raised dais and enough scattered musical instruments to outfit an entire orchestra or two. Did he really play all of these? Her hands trailed softly over the black and white keys of the pipe organ and she marveled at the echo it produced when she depressed one. She'd never had much of an ear for music and her attention quickly moved onward. Her exploration of the cavern took her next to something most curious and strange.

There was a door. It was hidden in the rock face and it appeared as if it had been carved out of the wall itself, but there was a door. There was even a brass keyhole and a knob.

It was the only such door in the entire underground lair, as far as she had seen, and as she tried the handle she found that it was locked. Her eyes raked the length of the simple, stone door that had been cut just perfectly enough to fit into the hollowed out archway of the rough gray stone walls. Its hinges and decorated lock were made of sturdy black iron and the door didn't look like it would budge under coercion.

But where there were locked doors, there were also keys.

Sophie left the door and continued her search of the phantom's domain. She found more of the same as before. Nearly every surface of the cave was littered in golden candelabras and glowing white tapered candles. Their wax dripped messily onto the floor and some had even burned down to stubs and extinguished themselves. The effect was romantic and lovely, but Sophie wondered at the fire hazard it created. Perhaps that was not such an issue for the phantom, though, considering that his home was made of bedrock and surrounded by a lake.

What surfaces weren't covered in candles were instead blanketed by pieces of thick paper covered in splatters of black and red ink.

Her eyes made out lines of sheet music, although she could not read it. Other papers held drawings of people or buildings with notes and numbers in the margin. It made little sense to Sophie. She abandoned the papers and cast her gaze about the rest of the phantom's belongings. It appeared that she had found his work station when she spotted a desk covered in half-finished projects and materials. Little clockwork gears were mixed in with strips of fabric and wire and chunks of wood. It appeared senseless and completely disorganized to her. Perhaps it was an organized chaos to its creator.

Sophie found the charred remains of a tiny replica of what she assumed was the opera house's stage. She had seen so very little of it in the dark that night. There were even tiny decorated and dressed wax characters within it. The actors were half melted, charred, and deformed and Sophie cringed away from the sight they made.

Her gaze settled next on a stack of books, and joyfully she rustled through the pile before she picked one of the leather bound tomes from the stack. The book opened to its most read page and Sophie ran a finger down the lines as she read it. It took her some time to decipher the words and their meaning. While Sophie had been taught the rudiments of reading and writing and considered herself proficient enough to meet her daily needs, she'd had little opportunity for practice. Books were an expensive luxury. And she was long past her school-age years so there simply wasn't much time for leisurely reading in her daily life. Well, times had changed. Now she had nothing else to do. Sophie clutched the book to her chest and slowly hobbled across the cavern with the help of her can until she'd reached the velvet sofa where she sat.

A fire was already crackling in the woodstove as Sophie settled down with her book. Her reading was slow and sometimes painful as she sounded out unfamiliar words and names and places but soon the stories unfurled in her head and it became easier. It was a collection of Greek myths and Sophie was utterly entranced. She'd never heard such tales before. Had he picked this book up in his travels?

She was reading the third story in the leather-bound volume when sounds rebounded around in the cave and drew her away her attention. When she looked up from her lap her eyes met Erik's gaze as he walked into the room, from some unknown entrance, and strode over to her on the sofa. He placed a large brown paper and twine wrapped parcel on the seat beside her.

"What's that?" she asked, intrigued.

"It is for this evening. We will have a guest at dinner tonight. He is an old… friend of mine," he answered vaguely.

Sophie marked her place in the book and set it aside. She picked up the heavy package and brushed a film of dust off of the paper. Wherever this had come from it had obviously not been touched in years. Her fingers found the ends of the string as she untied the bow that held it all together. As she unwrapped the mysterious package a lilac silk gown spilled out into her lap. She fingered the smooth material and tore the rest of the packaging away.

"There's more," he added. And Erik pulled a smaller wrapped package from somewhere inside of his black coat.

As he handed it over to her their fingers brushed and this time he did not recoil from her. She unwrapped this package too and found an amethyst tipped tortoiseshell hair comb inside. The three prongs were long and sharp and its gilded decorations surrounded three oval amethysts which gleamed beautifully in the light. She set both gifts neatly in her lap and tilted her head back to meet his gaze. More castoff gifts from his previous lady companion?

"They're very beautiful, thank you," she murmured sincerely.

He nodded and appeared uncomfortable.

"Who is this friend of yours?" she asked politely.

She noticed Erik's grip as it tightened on the back of the sofa.

"I met him in my youth while traveling abroad. We spent some years together in Persia. He is frustratingly difficult to get rid of.. much like sand in one's shoes," Erik replied. "I never cared for all that sand," he quipped.

"If you are not fond of him, then why invite him to dinner?" she asked with a hint of curiosity in her voice. This man hadn't given her the impression that he could be forced to do anything.

Erik's face clouded over incomprehensibly. "I can assure you that the idea of whether or not he is welcome here has never once crossed the Daroga's mind," he said tersely.

"The Daroga?" she prodded. She quirked a brow at the unfamiliar term.

"He was a policeman in Persia. It is a term of rank. Comparable to a chief of police, or a lead detective," he explained.

Dinner with the phantom of the opera and a Persian police chief. Could this new world that she stumbled in get any stranger? Sophie nodded mutely as she nervously fingered the lace edging on the gown.

"He will be here in an hour. You will join us for dinner… please," he requested.

Erik took the items from her hands and helped her rise from the sofa. Sophie leaned against him gladly. The exertion of her search of the cavern had exhausted her, and her leg was nearly trembling with the effort of just standing. She paused to pick up her cane and tucked it under her other arm. Together they made their way carefully to the bed chamber.

He held the curtain aside for her and turned to go. She touched her cane to the ground and squeezed his arm gently.

"Erik… thank you for the cane. It was very thoughtful," she thanked him.

He stared at her for a while but then the moment passed, and he left her there confused and without any sort of reply. The man was frustratingly difficult to read. Even without the half mask that he always wore.

Sophie laid the lavender gown across the bed and started to get ready for that evening's dinner.


	8. Chapter 8

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 8

Erik met the Persian at the hidden entrance at half past six that evening. The Persian arrived, carrying a bulging burlap sack, and greeted Erik with a nod. Erik's response was less courteous in reply.

"Darius tells me that you had him running errands for you today. He mentioned something about a little broken bird of yours. It was most perplexing when he could not give me any further details. Tell me, Erik, are you taking in stray pets now?" the Persian asked.

"I suppose that you could say that," Erik replied nonchalantly as he shrugged.

"Still... you know that I don't approve of you requisitioning my manservant for your affairs without any prior notice. I thought that we had left all of that behind us. Is my old friend up to his usual tricks again, then?" the Persian inquired pointedly.

"Up to, Nadir? Whatever can you mean? I'm certain that I have no idea what you are referencing," Erik replied, bored.

The Persian chuckled. "Two years have passed us by quietly, and if it weren't for my weekly visits to ensure that you haven't starved to death I don't think that I would have seen you at all. Now you appear at odd hours to order my servant about to do strange tasks… and now you're even meeting me outside of your home in the alley. I have visited you here every week for two years ever since that night. I know where your entrance lies, and how to navigate your tunnels. Yet you wanted to intercept me this time. It is unusual. Something has definitely changed about you, although I am not yet certain what it is. I hope that we are not headed back to old patterns..." the Persian trailed off.

Erik cut his eyes at his old friend. "I suppose that you can take the Daroga out of Mazandaran, but you can't take the Daroga out of the man. Come now, I didn't know that you cared so much about Erik. Sentiment has apparently made you foolish in your old age," Erik accused light heartedly.

"Perhaps it has," the Persian mused out loud, "but I prefer foolish and sentimental to the alternatives."

"Come inside then, old fool, before we're spotted here. You can save your lecture for after dessert. Come and meet my little broken bird," Erik retorted.

Erik depressed a nondescript mechanism that was hidden within the stone edifice of the stone opera house wall, and he watched as the entrance to the secret passage slid open cleanly and noiselessly. He retrieved the flickering torch from its hook in the wall, then led the Persian down the steep and narrow winding staircase. Together they made their way down into the depths of the opera house.

Erik paused at the bottom of the stairs and peered through the two way mirror. The room was empty, thankfully. His finger found the familiar opening mechanism and the glass pivoted open, created the doorway into his home.

As the two men entered the underground lair Erik directed the Persian into the tiny kitchen, "set it all over there," he commanded. The Persian did as he was asked while Erik headed towards the Louis Philippe room.

The room was quiet, although the curtain shielded her from his view. He paused just outside of the curtain and felt suddenly shy as he called out Sophie's name softly. Her reply to enter followed quickly so Erik pulled the thin fabric aside and stepped into the room.

She was lovely as she stood there and nervously tugged at her dress and ran tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. The thought struck him in an instant and made him feel unbalanced where he stood. The lavender gown offset her auburn hair perfectly.

 _She should always wear this color._

Erik swallowed the lump in his throat. "Our dinner guest has arrived," he informed her sternly.

Sophie nodded silently and fidgeted with her dress. Her mouth was set in a thin line and her brow was creased in a tiny furrow.

He found it curious that the same young woman who had fought off two knife-wielding ruffians and who'd thrown pillows at the phantom of the opera, had been put off-kilter by an intimate dinner party with, of all people, the Daroga.

"Come, Sophie," he beckoned gently as he softened his voice and demeanor. He was pleased when she appeared to relax in response. The furrow in her brow faded and her hands stilled against the fabric of her gown. "You will enjoy Nadir's stories of Mazandaran while dinner cooks," he reassured her.

He stepped forward and helped her to her feet as he tried to ignore the feeling of her body which was now pressed into his side as she leaned against him for support. He watched her from the corner of his eyes as she smoothed the skirts of her lavender gown and fussed with the edge of the bodice again. Arms linked together, and with his wiry strength to offset her weak and injured leg, the pair made their way out into the main cavern and to the dining table.

Erik helped Sophie into a chair then turned in time to see the Persian's shocked expression. He stifled a wicked grin. He had always delighted in shocking the Persian's sometimes antiquated and often overly delicate sensibilities.

"Sophie, this is my old... acquaintance... Nadir Khan, the Daroga of Mazandaran," he said.

Erik delighted in the way that the Persian's mouth hung open and the man's eyes widened. The Persian had gone soft after all of those years spent in the Shah's palace if he had forgotten how to school his expressions and keep his thoughts hidden.

"Daroga, have you forgotten your manners in your old age?" Erik chided with an unkind laugh. He ignored the nervous way that Sophie glanced between him and their guest.

The Persian's expression softened into what Erik supposed passed for a charming smile. A wave of jealousy rose up within him at the gesture. Erik fought it back down and was nearly successful until the the Persian reached out and took Sophie's hand and placed his lips to the back of it. The feelings of jealousy solidified and took root and Erik wondered when the possessive feelings had started. He found it very disconcerting, to say the least.

Erik helped Sophie to sit and stifled his glare at the Persian as the man chose the seat directly to her right. That left him the choice of the chair opposite the Persian, and he'd thus be left staring at the old man all evening, or the chair directly across from her, and thus he'd be staring at her all evening. Blast it all. How had he not considered the seating arrangements? A strange fluttering in his stomach set him at unease, and in a moment of uncharacteristic panic Erik left the decision for later and fled.

Dinner required preparation, or so he told himself as a reassurance that he'd not grown soft or weak in the loneliness and isolation of the last two years. The phantom of the opera, off-put by watching a girl eat dinner? The devil's child, nervous about whether or not she'd find the meal pleasing? The Shah's dreaded and reviled assassin, jealous of an old, fat, Persian man who touched the chit with ease and without a second thought? _How utterly ridiculous_.

He left them sitting at the dining table with the announcement that he would see to the dinner preparations. As he stepped away from them and into the kitchen Erik set about pulling that week's food stores from the heavy sack. Cured meats and hard cheeses and a variety of hardy vegetables and sealed tins were added to the back of the cupboard where they would keep for later. He opened a bottle of wine and left it out to breathe, then pulled a crusty loaf of bread onto the counter. He unwrapped a package of freshly cut meat and gathered his supplies. Erik strained to hear their conversation over the noise of cooking as he prepared their meal.

The Persian was simpering in his thickly accented French. "Ah! Miss Sophie I am delighted to make the acquaintance of such a lovely young lady. Tell me, my dear, how did you come to meet our mutual friend here?" the Persian inquired.

"He saved my life, _monsieur_ ," Sophie softly replied in her sweet, delicate voice.

"Oh? Now that is a tale that I am most interested in. May I inquire how?" the Persian requested.

Erik pulled an iron skillet from a hook and filled it with fingerling potatoes that he coated generously in olive oil, salt, and rosemary. He turned the two gas burners on and struck a match to light them both. Unwrapping the slab of beef, he sliced it into even thirds and coated the pieces in his own blend of spices. As he placed the seasoned cuts into a heated skillet he cursed at the loud sounds of their searing against the hot metal. The noise muffled Sophie's and the Persian's conversation. Time seemed to slow as the steaks cooked. Their voices were soft and the searing was loud. He waited until the edges of the steaks began to brown, then turned them over and seared the other sides too. More muffled conversation followed and Erik found himself regretting his menu selection. Why, exactly, had he wanted to impress her anyways? He turned the gas down low and let the steaks cook through slowly. Straining to hear their conversation again Erik paused in his work.

"... and then they chased me into the opera house. I fell through a hole in the stage and broke my leg badly in the fall. Erik has tended it, and he says that it should heal well," she stated.

Erik stirred the food around in the pans and glared at it to cook faster.

"And when did all of this tragedy occur?" the Persian angled.

Erik's eyes narrowed into slits.

"Oh… I… I'm really not certain. It feels like a lifetime ago. But I suppose it's only been a few days. It is so dreadfully hard to tell, you see, because I don't have a way to mark the time. And I slept so much in the beginning from the pain, and then the medicine made me tired too…" she admitted.

Eik moved the hot skillets to the large iron trivet that was already on the counter, then pulled two fine china plates down from their stack. He partitioned out two meals, and then covered the rest in the skillets with a piece of loosely woven cotton cloth. He would eat his portion later when Sophie had safely retired for the night.

He picked a plate up carefully, one in each hand, as he stepped towards the dining room.

The Persian's interrogation continued. "Poor dear… and when will you be better enough to return-"

Erik swiftly carried the plates into the next room and set them down loudly on the table.

Sophie flinched at the sound and abruptness of the movement.

"-Dinner is finished, Daroga, and it's best to eat your meal quickly before it grows cold" Erik told the man with a threatening glance that was angled so that only the Persian could have seen it.

The Persian sat back in his chair and cleared his throat "so I see, Erik... thank you."

He returned to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of opened wine and two wine glasses. He placed one before Sophie and kept one for himself, then sat down opposite her. Erik watched Sophie as she picked up her knife and fork and then eyed the Persian as he poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher that was already on the table.

"No wine, _monsieur_?" she asked their guest shyly.

"Ah, no. I am afraid that I do not imbibe for the sake of my religion," the Persian responded amicably.

Erik took a long sip of his wine in an act of internal defiance. He had no such qualms, and he'd made no such promises to some invisible deity. "The daroga is a devotee to Islam. Muslims do not sully their bodies with alcohol," he explained to her.

"Oh..." Sophie said as she cut her food and took a bite during the awkward silence. The Persian did the same and they began to eat.

"Erik told me that you met in Persia while you were in the police force," she added during a pause between bites to break the awkwardness.

Erik watched their discourse with a wary eye as he sipped from his glass of wine.

"Yes, yes. I was the Daroga, an appointed police chief... and detective of sorts for the Shah once upon a time," the Persian explained.

"The Shah?" Sophie asked questioningly. She tried the fingerling potatoes next.

"A Prince who acted as if he was God personified," Erik interrupted to explain. He took another small sip of wine and watched her as she ate.

The Persian frowned and retorted. "You did not have so many qualms about the Shah when you were accepting his gifts." The Persian waved his fork in circles in Erik's direction as he spoke.

Erik snorted and barked out a quick stream of laughter, "ah, yes, the riches of Persia were laid at my feet… until he nearly had me beheaded. Such a magnanimous ruler you had," he said sarcastically. "Here's your gold, nevermind the sword hanging by a thread above your head," he quipped.

Sophie's eyes widened as Erik's attention was diverted back to her.

"Beheaded!" she exclaimed. "Whatever for?" she asked.

Erik glanced at the Persian with a steely gaze and gave him a silent warning. The Persian pretended to ignore this and stuffed an extravagantly large bite of steak into his mouth and chewed.

"The good Daroga here brought me to Persia on the bidding of the Shah. I was in Russia, at the time, and I was traveling on my own performing illusions and sleights of hand and word traveled of my show. The Shah's attention was fierce but brief. He was often prone to extreme flights of fancy. I entertained him with my inventions until he grew bored. Then he commissioned me for other… works..." Erik answered.

"Like the tree?" Sophie supplied.

The Persian choked himself into a coughing fit and drew both of their attention.

Erik leaned forward on one elbow on the table. "Chew carefully, Daroga, it wouldn't do for you to choke to death down here," Erik warned the man as he held his gaze. Erik returned his attention to Sophie in time to see her startled and confused expression as she glanced between him and the Persian.

"Yes, Sophie, just like the little potted tree that flowers when you turn its key. And other more elaborate automatons and inventions," Erik skirted the truth.

"Are you alright?" Sophie asked the Persian with a concerned note in her voice as she leaned towards their choking guest.

The Persian drank down a gulp of water from his glass and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, with which he wiped his brow. "Yes, my dear, I am fine. I have learned my lesson to take smaller bites," he confessed warily.

"I built the Shah a seaside palace and when it was complete he found that he couldn't bear the idea of my leaving him. I suppose he thought that I would go and build more elaborate palaces for other Shahs. So he ordered my death and the Daroga here was expected to carry out the task. Instead we fled to Constantinople, and then later to Paris," Erik continued.

"Persia does not sound like such a friendly place," Sophie muttered softly.

The Persian turned to face her. "It is true that it has its... troubles. But it also rich and vibrant in life and culture. It sits near barren desert lands as a fertile cradle to our Eastern civilization. The rollings hills and forests are green with life. And in all my years and travels I've never seen a sight as glorious as the pink and purple glow of a Mazandaran Summer sun as it sets over the Caspian sea."

Sophie smiled and pushed her finished plate aside. "That does sound lovely," she agreed, and then her face fell into a more sombre expression. "Have you ever been to Greece?" she asked both of them suddenly.

Erik glanced at the Persian who shook his head.

"No I can't say that I have!" the Persian answered, "why do you ask?"

Sophie fidgeted with her silverware as she took a long sip of wine. She cradled the wine glass in her hand by the stem and watched it swirl within the glass as she rolled her wrist in lazy circles. "I've been reading a book of Greek stories. There isn't much else for me to do here, you see. One story in particular caught my attention. Have you heard the story of Hades and Persephone, _Monsieur_ Khan?"

Erik set his wineglass down harder than necessary. It clinked against the table. The Persian glanced between the two of them and Erik pretended not to notice the man's confused expression. Erik returned Sophie's stare and saw the bounding pulse of fear throbbing in the vein of her neck. He watched her as she licked her dry lips and turned to face their guest.

"No, my dear, I don't believe that I've heard of that tale," the Persian replied.

Sophie's coquettish smile at the Persian set Erik's teeth on edge. His hand clenched into a fist under the table.

"It is the story of the god of the dead who steals a bride. She is called Persephone, and she is the goddess of Spring. Hades sees her her picking wildflowers one day and decides that he will take her to his underworld to be his bride. He traps her there with him because he is lonely, and because she is very beautiful. He believes that in time he can break her spirit and keep her there by his side forever. She begs him to return her, but he can not bear to be parted from her, and so he refuses. She starves herself and shuns him. But then he does the silliest thing. He actually falls in love with her. Months pass and Persephone is fading into a shell of herself. The goddess of Spring is wilting without the sun and her freedom. Hades finally convinces her to eat six pomegranate seeds. And then one day her mother Demeter, the goddess of Earth, goes to the king of the gods and begs for her daughter's release. Her wish is granted and Demeter arrives in Hades to bring Persephone back home. But Persephone has eaten in Hell, and now she is bound to it. You see, Hades has tricked her. She must return to Hell for six months of every year, one month for each seed. And that is why the world has Winter- it is the Earth's mourning of Spring's imprisonment in Hell."

A heavy silence filled the room.

"What are your thoughts on this myth, _monsiuer_?" Sophie addressed the Persian, but her eyes flicked towards Erik.

Erik felt his body still and tense with unbridled rage. His hands gripped the edge of the table tightly.

Sophie cast furtive glances between the Persian and him.

Erik's gaze never left her face. "Is it foolish then, to grasp at happiness and love when one has been denied it?" he asked in a strangled voice.

He watched a rosy blush spread across her face and then her head dipped as she averted her gaze.

"No, Erik. It is not. But love and affection can not be forced- they must be earned. And imprisonment is a poor way to demonstrate one's feelings," she murmured.

The Persian stared intently at the rings of water under his glass which left their mark upon the wooden table.

"Earned, you say... _mademoiselle_ ," Erik replied, "except that not all of us are equally blessed." His hand reached up and his fingertips just barely brushed the edge of the mask. "Some of us, in fact, are born quite disadvantaged," he added pointedly.

"True love is blind," she retorted defiantly.

Erik drained the rest of his wine, then stood abruptly and stalked about the table. He stood in front of Sophie and leaned his hip against the table by her arm. He stared down at her and his eyes traced down the delicate curve of her delicate upturned neck. How easy it would have been to wring it and be done with all of this trouble.

"Blind! Good news, Daroga, do you hear? Love is blind. Shall we test your theory, Sophie?" he said a little too loudly. His fingers once again reached up to the edges of his mask. But instead of lifting it free, instead he pressed it harder into the delicate skin of the right side of his face. It dug into his tender flesh where his fingers pressed.

Erik stared down at her with wild eyes, "shall I show you the monster behind the man? The wickedness that is my face that drove two women to their deaths?" he said with a venomous voice that was soft and more dangerous than screaming. He leaned forward toward Sophie and invaded her space. But she did not flinch away from him.

Erik delighted in the pallor of her face and the lone tear that rolled down her cheek as he towered over her. He saw how her knuckles blanched and her fingers curled tightly around the knife. His eyes widened in a frenzy of insane delight.

"Already prepared to kill the beast before you have even seen Erik's face!" he crowed, "you are two steps ahead of everyone else my dear Sophie."

The Persian turned in his seat and shouted "Erik! Enough!"

Erik turned his attention to his old friend and felt the blood rage pass. It was gone as quickly as it came and it left a trail of burned out weariness inside of him in its wake.

Sophie found her voice then. "I swear to God that the next man who lays his hands on me in anger will die. I am through with being victimized by men who think that their brute strength matters more than my spirit. I will never be beaten or manhandled again," she swore loudly at him through gritted teeth and with narrowed eyes.

The strength of her accusations made him stagger back as if they had been a physical blow. His hand dropped away from his mask.

"I have never harmed a woman," Erik confessed quietly. His shoulders slumped in shame. He abandoned Sophie and the Persian at the table and escaped into the kitchen. He slammed his fists onto the counter and felt hot tears coursing down his face. He stifled a sob and wiped roughly at his face. The tears slid down under the mask and itched him fiercely.

Erik heard their voices from the other room.

"Sophie, child, it is quite alright now. Erik has a temper but it is true that he has never harmed a woman. His life has not been easy..." the Persian said in a gentle voice.

"I'm fine… I… I'm fine..." she replied unconvincingly.

"I see that your hands are shaking, my dear. Come, let's sit by the fire and warm them," the Persian insisted.

The sounds of their chairs scraping against the floor and the thump of Sophie's shuffling gait resounded in Erik's ears. He removed his mask and laid it before him on the counter. His hand swept away the tear stained tracks on his face. He took a deep calming breath and held it while he counted to thirty, then released it and picked the mask back up. He fitted it back into place and ensured that the wire was secure.

Grabbing the bottle of wine he strode across the room to the raised dais and his pipe organ. He needed to play. Songs were bursting like fireworks inside of his head and the only way he'd ever found to erase them from his mind was to birth them into reality. Music was his only escape from the madness. Everything always came back to music.


	9. Chapter 9

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 9

Sophie tossed and turned in bed while her mind replayed that evening's events over and over again. The kindly old Persian had helped her to bed since Erik was indisposed. She'd heard his wracked sobs and then watched warily from the sitting area as he practically leapt up the pipe organ steps and lost himself into playing. And then the Persian had left her there all alone. She could still hear the organ belting out ominous and angry notes. Would he ever stop playing? It had been hours. Yet still he played. Midnight must surely have come and gone, and yet his music still rang through the cave in heart wrenching, angry, sad song after song.

Sophie threw the covers aside and pulled herself from its warmth and comfort. A shiver ran through her body as she grabbed the green wrap from the oriental trunk and quickly tied it about herself. She ran fingers through her tangled hair and smoothed the worst of it out, then picked up her cane. It tapped against the cold stone floor as she slowly made her way out into the main cavern and approached the dais.

The rough cut steps had been carved into the floor of the cave and they were difficult for her to maneuver. There were only five of them and she was ashamed at the time and effort that they required. Putting any amount of weight on her broken leg was agonizing and it took Sophie far longer than she'd care to admit how to figure out how to climb the stairs with just one good leg and a cane.

At last she made it to the top and she found the curls on her forehead damp with sweat from the exertion. She paused to catch her breath and regarded Erik from behind as he sat there at his instrument. His long, thin fingers flew expertly over the keys. Sophie could see the line of his broad shoulders through the thin fabric of his white ruffled shirt. She saw the exact moment that he noticed her presence, because he tensed. She idly wondered when he'd discarded his black overcoat from earlier and where he'd abandoned it.

She caught her breath and moved to join him on the organ's bench.

"Scoot over, Erik," she demanded, tired. He did as she asked and slid down the bench. Sophie sat next to him on his unmasked side. Their hips brushed against each other on the narrow bench. Sophie propped her damaged leg to the side and tried to ignore its throbbing ache and the well of fatigue that lived inside of her.

His long and narrow fingers stilled on the keys of the organ and Sophie noticed that his hands were covered in splotches of ink. There were newly transcribed music sheets scattered all about the organ and tucked away into every available nook and cranny of the stone edifice where the organ was set into place.

She reached a hand out and ran it along the cool ivory key, then depressed a single note and took a small pleasure in the way it echoed about the cave, then faded softly. Sophie understood now why he had placed the organ here. The acoustics echoed the sound and made it larger and more grand than normal.

"Do you play?" he asked her with a curious lilt to his voice.

She shook her head. "No, I never learned," she answered, and she withdrew her hands from the instrument and laid them in her lap.

"Would you like to?" he whispered. His voice was so low and soft and hesitant that she wasn't even really certain that he'd said anything at all.

She shook her head again. "I'd rather listen to you play," she told him honestly.

Erik placed his hands back into position on the keys and played an enchanting lullaby. Sophie felt herself relaxing as the music surrounded them. The tension in her shoulders released and she found herself swaying slightly with the melody. Time lost its meaning as they sat together on the organ's bench while Erik played.

Sophie shook off the trance and turned slightly on the bench to look at him "Erik… I'm sorry for my part in how things happened earlier. I goaded you in front of your friend. It was unkind of me to do it after everything that you've done to help me." Her eyes flicked down to her clasped hands in her lap.

His playing paused for just a second before his hands resumed their playing. "I should apologize, not you. My temper runs away from me at the worst moments sometimes. You should know that I... I would never lay a hand against you," he admitted. His voice was soft and hesitant.

Sophie met his gaze and thought a moment, then nodded thoughtfully.

His amber eyes glowed golden in the candlelight. "You said 'again'," he whispered. His hands never strayed from the melody that he was weaving around them.

Her brow furrowed as the words took a moment for her to process them through her confusion, "Hmm?"

"At dinner," he clarified, "you said that you would never let a man lay hands on you in anger again…"

"Oh," she muttered as she shifted her eyes away from him and stared off into the distance, "that's a rather long story."

The tempo changed with the tune as Erik played one song into the next flawlessly and without pause.

"We have all the time in the world down here," he prodded.

She reached up and grasped a lock of hair and wound it nervously around a finger.

"My father died when I was very little," she began. And then the memories took over as she told her story.

"There was an accident at his factory and he lost his arm. He spent weeks in a charity bed at the infirmary ward. But his wound festered badly and he died, eventually some few weeks later from infection and blood poisoning. I remember sitting beside him and holding his remaining hand while I watched him dying.. slowly. He was delirious in the end and struck out at anyone who tried to comfort him. I think the worst part of it all was watching him lose his mind to the fevers before he finally died," she confessed.

Her breath shuddered with the memories. "My mother was widowed with me, a small child, and another on the way. But she lost that baby in her grief, too. As if the loss of my father wasn't enough. My little brother was stillborn and as small as a kitten when she gave birth. He never even took a breath or cried. His skin was gray and mottled. I bundled him in rags and buried him in garden that night because we were too poor now to afford a second funeral.

Sophie wound the curl around her finger tightly until it pulled at her scalp. "The little money that we had saved was long gone. Mother couldn't keep up with her work from the grief and the after birth. As soon as she was healed enough to walk again my mother quit the laundry and took a job at the tavern instead. The pay was better, when the patrons tipped well and she was lovely back then, so they tipped often. She was determined to keep me in school and out of the factories. We struggled for months." Sophie sighed as she remembered how things had been when it was just the two of them.

"I often wonder how things would have turned out if she had kept her job at the laundry and I had gone to work instead. I don't know if it would have been any better..." she whispered.

"But she certainly wouldn't have met Jacques," she added forcefully. "My mother met him at the Tavern. He was a regular there at the bar and at the gambling tables in the back. He was charming and pleasant and friendly and he took a special liking to my mother. They were married less than a year later."

Sophie let the curl spring free and placed a flat palm on the cool, smooth wood of the organ. "She was happy, so I was happy. We were a little mis-fit family again, until one day we weren't. His good luck soured and he lost our newly gained savings. And then he turned to gin for comfort. That's when he started beating her."

Sophie heard the music stop abruptly and felt Erik shifting on the seat beside her. But she refused to turn to face him. If he looked at her with pity in his eyes then she knew that she'd start crying and once she'd started she would never be able to stop.

"When I got older and stronger I started to drag him off of her whenever they fought. That's when he started beating me, too. I grew up and I learned how to navigate his moods. If I can keep him satisfied with gin, and tobacco, and just enough money to lose at cards every week then his mood is tempered and the assaults are less frequent and less severe… but I'm so terribly worried about my mother and sister. Emma is only five, and she doesn't understand yet how to manage him..."

"Sophie…" Erik whispered beside her.

She ignored him and turned her head away as a tear escaped her control and rolled down her face. Her breath shuddered as she forced the feelings down. Crying would not help. Crying would not change things. She'd learned at a tender age that life was not fair and her prayers would never be answered. There was no white knight coming to her rescue. She'd have to manage it herself.

"I learned a long time ago, Erik, that monsters can lurk behind even the most pleasant of faces. Your mask doesn't disturb me," she added quickly.

He was silent for a moment. "How can I help?" he asked finally.

"Let me go…" she begged him. "I won't tell," she promised.

He stilled beside her. "Ask anything else of me, and it is yours," he vowed.

The silence grew between them like a void.

The moment of tenderness passed.

Then Sophie gathered her cane and stood, "good night, Erik."


	10. Chapter 10

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 10

Days passed by and Sophie and Erik settled into some semblance of a routine.

She would wake and dress and meet him in the living quarters of the cave. He would watch her eat or read or wind up one of his automatons. Then he would play one of his musical instruments.

Some days she watched him scratch his work down on a piece of blank paper as he added it to the ever growing pile. Other days he would curse aloud and crumple it, then toss it haphazardly to the floor among the others.

Sophie tried but ultimately could not decipher which songs would end up pleasing or annoying him. She simply could not distinguish between what he considered delightful or terrible. It all sounded unearthly and amazing to her untrained ears.

Each day ended with Sophie's beg for release, and with Erik's subsequent refusal. Sometimes his refusal was forceful. Other times it seemed filled with bitter sadness and remorse. Then they would sit together before the fire and finish off their bottle of wine from dinner. They would find something to converse about until the fire had burned low and Sophie headed off alone to her bed.

One day sophie awoke to the rumbling sounds of the purring cat who had decided, at some point in the night, to sleep on Sophie's head.

Her melancholic mood lifted as the cat leaned over and tickled her face with its whiskers and warm velvet nose. The cat snuffled in Sophie's ear in approval. Sophie smiled and slowly pulled her hair free of the cat, then rose from the bed to dress. The cat ignored her and curled up in the now vacant warm spot of the bed.

Sophie's eyes felt tired as she rubbed the sleep from them and she wondered how much time had passed. The lack of any way for her to track the passing time or of the day's as they changed into night was driving her slowly to the brink of madness.

 _How did he stand it?_

She pulled a clean shift from the dresser and changed quickly. Her hands rummaged through the trunk until she pulled out a simpler indigo dress. Its high collar was edged with delicate indigo and burgundy ruffles. The front of the bodice and the long sleeves' cuffs were embroidered and similarly trimmed. The gown had a slimmer skirt that gathered mostly in the back. It was perfect as it looked far easier for her to walk in unlike the other dresses that had too much material in the skirts for her weakened leg. Sophie wasn't used to wearing such fine dresses and she found them to be overwhelming at time. She wondered briefly how she hadn't seen this dress before in the bottom of the trunk.

Loosening the laces on her corset she managed to slip it over her head then wiggle it into place and tighten it in the back. Her ribs no longer ached so she hazarded a guess that several days or maybe even a week had passed since she had fallen down the stage and into Erik's underground world.

Her eyes skipped over the pale blue matching petticoat but she simply donned the dress instead. No one would care if her skirt was not properly supported or fluffed out. There was no one to see her but Erik and a cat.

Sophie reached for her cane and exited her room.

Her eyes scanned the cave but she saw no sight of her masked companion in his usual haunting spots. Typically he was either at his desk or at the organ. She'd learned his patterns in the last few days. A quick walkthrough of the cave convinced her of his absence. She wondered briefly where he went whenever he left her. He did so only briefly and rarely. Her eyes flickered to the locked door on the far side of the cave.

Spying a setting of nuts and dried fruits in a bowl on the table she grabbed a small handful and munched on her breakfast as she wandered about the cave once more.

"Erik?" she called out. Her own voice echoed back to her from across the lake.

"Won't you come and join me for breakfast?" she asked.

There was no reply.

She hurried to his workstation. A cursory glance over its surface revealed it to be much the same as the last time that she had searched it. Sophie picked up small oddities and curiosities, checked them for any hidden secrets, then carefully replaced them exactly as she'd found them. In one of the desk drawers she found a stack of fresh paper and a pot of blood red ink with a matching quill. She grimaced at its vulgarity but set about her task quickly.

The Persian may not be bold enough to rescue her from her situation, but would he deny to conceal and carry a harmless letter to her family? She thought not. She felt desperate enough to attempt it.

Sophie sat at the desk and dipped the quill in the ink. It scratched against the paper and the noise set her teeth on edge.

My dearest Emma,

I am sorry to have left you and _mamman_ so abruptly and with no word of what happened until now. I slipped on a patch of ice and broke my leg. How terribly clumsy I am! Know that I am safe and on the mend and that I am staying with a friend until I recover. I miss you dearly. Give _mamman_ a kiss for me.

With all my love,

Sophie

P.S. Please do not forget to water my flowers for me until I return. The marigolds in the northwest corner under the lantern hook need your particular attention.

Sophie fanned the letter with her hand to encourage the ink to dry. She wiped the quill dry on a piece of scrap material. Her heart raced as she tucked the quill and ink pot back into the drawer.

The sound of faint steps echoing as they quickly approached made her jump and she hurried to fold the letter. Her thumb smeared a word in her haste but the letter remained legible. She folded it down into a small packet and unbuttoned the collar of her dress then stuffed it down her bodice and corset. Her heart pounded in her ears as buttoned her collar closed and returned the pot of ink and pen and shut the desk drawer. Sophie pulled the top most book from the stack on the desk and pretended to be reading.

Erik entered the room from somewhere behind her.

Sophie didn't dare turn around to see where he had come from. The edge of the letter scratched against her breast as she turned a page in the book as if she had just finished it. Her eyes scanned the page as if she was reading it but her mind comprehended nothing. Erik's footsteps synced with her heartbeat as he came towards her.

"Ah, Sophie, there you are. I have a surprise for you today."

She pasted what she hoped was a neutral expression upon her face, then turned and closed the book shut.

He moved closer towards her until he was standing just behind her.

"Oh I've interrupted your reading…." he started and then his voice trailed off.

Her breathing hitched as his eyes turned to read the title and his brow quirked.

"You're reading my book on gothic architecture and advanced stonemasonry techniques…" he said in a strange voice. "How do you find it, Sophie?"

She grimaced, "it's rather beyond me, I'm afraid."

His eyes bored into hers as he held her gaze. "Indeed… it's rather advanced even for a stonemason. I'd recommend the book of Shakespeare's sonnets instead for some light reading. I think you'd find it far more enjoyable."

"You're probably right," she murmured in agreement and pushed the heavy tome aside.

"But you're bleeding, Sophie," Erik stated in alarm.

Sophie glanced at the red smudge of ink on her thumb and stuck it promptly in her mouth. She sucked on it for a moment as she wiped the mark away with her tongue.

"A papercut is all," she lied. "I'm fine."

She used the cane to stand and smoothed her skirts. "You said that you had something for me?" she said to distract him.

"Yes, a surprise. Two, in fact. _Madame_ Giry will be arriving shortly. She assists me with various tasks and takes the laundry out for cleaning. The other surprise is for after dinner."

They didn't have long to wait as shortly after making his announcement another person's steps echoed around the chamber. Erik ushered Sophie into the bedroom to gather up her dirty laundry. She suspected that it served as more of a distraction than anything else so that she wouldn't learn of the whereabouts of the phantom's secret entrance. But she let him usher her away anyways. Her wildly beating heart settled.

Sophie collected the old discarded clothing and carried it out of the room in one arm. Her cane tapped the ground ahead of her. As she rounded the curtained partition she spied a middle aged woman with graying hair pulled back from her face in a tight bun. The woman was dressed severely in all black and carried a cane much like her own.

The woman looked her up and down. Sophie fought the urge to fidget as the woman's mouth turned down at the corners.

"Oh, Erik… really? Nadir warned me as much. But I had hoped it wasn't true," the older woman scolded him.

Sophie's eyes widened. Where _Monsieur_ Khan was kind and jovial, _Madame_ Giry was stern and suspicious. What an interesting collection of… friends.

Erik scoffed. " _Madame_ Giry, I will remind you not to meddle in my affairs. You and I both remember the consequences of that last time that you did not do as I asked," he replied with narrowed eyes.

Sophie stared at the two of them as they glared at each other. She wondered if all of Erik's acquaintances wanted to throttle him as much as the Persian and this woman seemed to. It certainly appeared that way to her right then. Madame Giry's expression was withering.

Placing the small pile of clothing on the dining table Sophie met the older woman's gaze. She watched as the woman looked her up and down. The woman's quick appraisal made her feel self-conscious. Sophie shifted in place and felt the edge of her note digging sharply into her skin.

Would this woman help her? She seemed unafraid of Erik. And she had defied him at least once before if Erik's accusation was to be believed. The note burned against her breast as if her deception was visible to everyone in the room. And the longer that it was in her possession, the more she risked its discovery.

" _Madame_ Giry, is it?" she asked hesitantly.

" _Oui_ ," the woman responded succinctly.

"I wonder if you might help me gather a few more things. It is difficult for me to carry all of it with my leg, you see," she lied.

The woman glanced at Erik and at his nod of approval _madame_ Giry followed Sophie into the bedroom. As the thick curtain fell behind them Sophie pulled an unworn gown from the trunk and placed it on the bed. The woman raised an eyebrow in silent question.

" _Madame_ ," Sophie whispered as the woman stepped forward, "I hope that I might trust you. I want to get word to my family that I am well. Can you help me with this task?"

"Child, do you really think that wise?" the woman asked.

"I am not asking you to betray his confidence, _madame_. I merely want to let my family know that I am alive so that they do not fear the worst."

The woman looked at the curtain for a moment then returned her gaze to Sophie. "Hurry, child," she whispered.

Sophie unbuttoned the collar of her gown and pulled the folded note from her corset. She placed it in the woman's hand and sent a silent prayer that it would reach Emma.

As she turned away she reached into the bottom of the oriental trunk and withdrew her coin purse with its meager contents. "If I could ask for one more favor, _madame_ , I would ask you to deliver this with the note. Both should be given only to my sister Emma. She is five years old with brown, curly hair and brown eyes, and freckles over her nose. Please, under no terms may you give either the note or the coin purse to anyone else in the household. Please, that is very important."

The woman looked at the note and the coin purse in her hand. "There is no address," she stated matter of factly.

"I was afraid of its discovery," sophie explained quietly, "but I will tell you now." And then she leaned forward and whispered into the old woman's ear.


	11. Chapter 11

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 11

Erik ushered _Madame_ Giry through the entrance after Sophie disappeared into the bathing chamber. He carried the heavy sack of clothing up the steep staircase for her. The weight of the bag pulled at him, but he managed to hold the lit torch aloft as well, careful not to singe either of them in the cramped space, and together they began the arduous climb. The flickering light cast deep shadows on the wall around them.

"I liked your other entrance better, Erik," _Madame_ Giry complained. "I feel my age in my knees on this one."

"It's such a shame that tunnel was destroyed when the mob came through to kill me," he answered sarcastically.

"It has been two years, Erik. Let the past rest. Heaven knows that I have helped you more than you deserved at times," she replied sharply.

Erik glowered in the dark, but bit his tongue.

The stairs felt endless even to Erik's lean, athletic body. He could only imagine how they must feel to an old ballet mistress with arthritic joints.

At last they emerged at the top where the path sloped upwards and flickering torches lined their path. Erik watched as _Madame_ Giry took the torch from him and placed it into the wall bracket. She turned to face him as he slung the sack down onto the ground between them.

"I'll take what she gave to you," he ordered as he reached a hand out between them. He was not shocked by _Madame_ Giry's reaction of false surprise. The woman was dedicated to her deception, he'd give her that.

She denied it weakly and only for a moment, then reached into her pocket and withdrew the folded up piece of paper.

Erik took it from her and unfolded it near the light. He read its contents three times through but could not decipher any obvious acts of betrayal or words of exposition. For all intents and purposes it was rather brief and straightforward. He turned it over and his eyes scanned the back but he found it barren. He folded it up again along its creases.

"Another betrayal, _Madame_ Giry?" he inquired. "Have you no pity or sense of loyalty to your dear, old friend?" His words dripped with honey coated malice.

 _Madame_ Giry looked at him with a clouded expression that he could not decipher. "She is a frightened girl, Erik. And she merely wants her family to know that she is still alive. Did she betray your trust in her letter? Did she expose your secrets?" the woman probed hotly.

Erik glanced down at the folded piece of paper in his hands and pondered how easy it would be to simply hold it to the torch's flames and watch as it burned to ashes. "No, she did not," he answered her warily. A hint of shame creeped into his voice. _Madame_ Giry had always acted as his conscience when he forgot his own.

"How did you guess?" the old woman asked him.

"It was simple, really. I caught her at my desk reading a book that she would never read, then noticed ink stains on her fingers. When she took you back into the Louis Philippe room to retrieve a dress that she has never worn before it was easy to put the pieces together. Besides… I have excellent hearing as you are well aware," he explained.

"And what will you do now?" she inquired.

Erik flipped the note over and over again in his hands as he pondered the situation and its solutions and consequences. The thoughts tumbled through his head and clashed together. If he destroyed the letter then his secrets would be all the safer. Her family would mourn her loss, but eventually they would move on with their lives. But if Sophie discovered his deception, then her budding trust in him would shatter. Her tenuous companionship and tolerance of him would be rescinded. He would be alone again, except not alone at all. He'd have to face the growing hate and fear in her eyes as she learned to despise him. But if he let her note, her lifeline, be thrown out and about into the world above then he could not be assured of his control of the situation. Her family was surely missing her. They might band together and convince _Madame_ Giry to lead the rescue party and march upon his little home once more. Heaven knows the old woman had done it to him once before.

With a flourish of his hands from his days as a street magician he turned his wrist over and the letter vanished from sight.

 _Madame_ Giry sighed deeply and bent to pick up the heavy sack. He flicked the opening mechanism and brushed past her as he moved back towards the top of the stairs.

"I don't suppose that you plan to share the delivery address with me," he accused her as she turned away from him to leave.

The old woman flinched. "As you so frequently remind me, Erik, you are so very clever. Surely you can figure that out for yourself."

Erik frowned back at her. "Are you so quick to believe the worst in me now, Antoinette?" He sighed. "The note is in your pocket. Do with it what you will."

He watched her with a sad and wistful expression as she paused in her exit to pull the folded note from her pocket for confirmation. And then he took up the lit torch and turned and hurried back down the stairs. He couldn't bear to see her disappointment in him anymore. A small part of him wondered why he cared.

His long legs made short work of his descent. When he approached the entrance to his home he spied the cavern through the two way mirror and saw that it was empty. He'd instructed Sophie to wait for him in the Louis Philippe room and he'd told her that he would call for her when dinner was prepared. He was pleased to see that she had obeyed him. No doubt the nagging guilt of her minor betrayal had made her more biddable. He could use that to his advantage.

Erik pressed the mechanism that opened the wall behind the mirror, then slipped through it quickly and secured it shut behind him.

He headed towards the kitchen and set about preparing their dinner. And when it was finished he set his meal aside for later and called Sophie over.

They dined quietly, as they often did. He took the opportunity to study her as he drank his wine. She seemed nervous and withdrawn and he suspected that she was ruminating over her tiny defiance. Still, if a letter home was the worst that she could throw his way then he was confident in his power over her. He would simply have to watch her even more closely than before. He'd known that she possessed a strong will, but now he was forewarned about the deceptions that she might pull. Even the wildest of horses could be broken and tamed with a gentle hand and time.

Sophie finished her meal and sat back in her chair. "Have you known _Madame_ Giry long?" she asked curiously.

"Yes," he replied. "We met when I was a small child. She rescued me from an unfortunate situation and gave me shelter when I needed it most."

He took a long sip of wine as unpleasant memories stirred. "I sought her out again when I returned to Paris from my travels abroad. I knew that she had danced in the ballet in her youth and I asked her to be the ballet mistress when my opera house was built. She was kind to me when I needed kindness, and I wished to repay my debt to her."

"Your opera house?" Sophie questioned him. "Isn't it called the Garnier? Is that your name?"

Erik nodded. "A _nome de plume..._ of sorts. Garnier was an aspiring architect in his youth when the design challenge was issued. I was abroad at the time and returned after it was long over. But he lacked true vision and depth. And he was exceptionally lazy. I approached him and we struck a deal. He took the credit and fame, and I built an Opera house that would shake the world. It is perfect… it _was_ perfect."

He sighed and slumped a bit in his chair. "It was the greatest thing I ever built…" he whispered wistfully.

Ghosts of his past plagued him and he took another sip to drown their haunting melodies in his head.

Sophie crossed her knife and fork over her plate. "What happened… back then?" she asked softly.

He was silent as he contemplated how to summarize the events that haunted his dreams and every waking moment. He could still see Christine's beautiful face staring up at him, her doe-eyes shining with tears and filled with fear. He could still feel the softness of her rose petal lips against his own as she pressed them to his ragged mouth and begged him to spare her lover's life. He could still hear the screams of the audience ringing in his ears as she betrayed him and exposed his sins to them. Their voices and bodies would never intertwine again and the thought filled him with despair and relief. Sometimes the sweetest poison was the deadliest.

"I loved her," he explained simply, "yet she loved another. I offered her the world and she betrayed me," he added bitterly.

His eyes slipped away from Sophie's probing gaze and he folded his hands together thoughtfully. "My temper got the best of me. My reaction was… regrettable. And the consequences were severe."

"I have never been in love with someone," she admitted to him. Her eyes were downcast into her lap and she sighed deeply. "But I imagine that when it is true and pure that the person who loves you would try to keep you from harm, not add to it."

Erik's hand tightened dangerously on the glass that he held. "I wouldn't know. Even my own mother failed to love me. All because of this accursed face that I was born with. She told me often how she'd wished that she had throw me into the fire when I was an infant… how I defiled her last memories of my father. He died before I was born."

"Oh, Erik," she moaned softly.

His eyes met hers and he saw her sweet, sad face looking at him with pity. He fought to keep a scowl from his face as he downed the rest of his wine.

"You are correct, Sophie, you know nothing of the agony and ecstasy of love. Perhaps you are better for it. Love destroys us when it leaves. It carves out a niche in our hearts and leaves us hollow in its wake," he stated.

She sighed and looked away from him and was quiet for a while. "If its absence makes everyone this volatile then perhaps I _am_ better off being ignorant."

Erik let his eyes roam her beautiful face and figure. A part of him enjoyed the blush that spread its bloom across her face. "Ah, come now. Surely you don't expect me to believe that there isn't a handsome young suitor who is missing you. Perhaps that is part of your fervent desire to return home? No?"

Sophie's frown deepened sadly. "Would it matter? If I fell to my knees and begged to leave because I had left a handsome beau at home... would that stir pity in your heart? Would you release me then, as you did your little soprano?"

His temper flared at her cavalier mention of his beautiful Christine. Erik stifled the urge to throttle Sophie right then and there. If he attempted to count on his fingers the number of times that he'd been driven to violence for survival then he would run out of fingers. But he'd managed to never wrap his hands or the thin wire of his punjab around a woman's neck… yet. That was one sin that he hoped fervently to keep off of his conscience. "No. It would not."

"Well… there is little left to say, then," she said matter of factly with a quick shrug of her shoulders.

He was baffled. Truly this was not where he had imagined that the evening would have taken him. Erik felt weary of the constant battle of wills between him and Sophie. If she would only submit to him…

The gears in his mind clicked and turned.

"Enough, let's not argue tonight. The past should remain undisturbed… as an old friend recently reminded me. I have a surprise for you," he offered amicably.

Erik enjoyed the range of perplexed expressions that came and went on Sophie's face. He delightened in surprising Sophie. Her face was most expressive. He wondered if she realized that she was so readable.

"It's over there on the sofa," he added with a nod in the direction of the sitting area.

They rose from the table together. Sophie's cane tapped against the floor as she followed behind him. He led her to the little sofa where she sat and pulled the small package into her lap. Erik turned and busied himself by stoking the fire in the little wood stove. The flames had burned down to embers during dinner, but it was easy enough to revive with some careful attention.

He watched her as she pulled the string and paper away and revealed the box.

He took her cast off paper and twine from her and fed it to the rekindled fire. The flames danced as the wrapping caught and burned. "Go on, open it," he prodded.

Sophie cracked the box open on its hinge and pulled a pocket watch from its velvet lining. A long chain spilled out behind it. He watched her eyes as they were transfixed on the engraved pattern of the watch fob.

He'd known that he must buy it for her when he spotted it on one of his early morning walks. His little broken bird... it was too perfect to ignore.

The pocket watch was cast from a rosy hue of gold with an embossed relief that circled along the edge. And in the middle of it there was a branch that reached across it from one edge to the other. Tiny gold and silver flowers sprouted from its leafy branches. And in the middle of it all there was a little bird that was posed mid flight on the branch. Its wings reached up into the sky and its feet and talons were wrapped loosely around the branch. It was impossible to tell if the bird was flying away, or returning home.

Sophie was speechless as she sat beside him and gazed upon the object in her hand.

"Do you like it?" Erik asked warily. He had not had many occasions to gift people with things and the movements felt odd to him. Christine had never truly enjoyed the Louis Philippe room that he had toiled over to prepare for her. Although she had hidden from him in it often.

Sophie blinked and looked up at him. "Yes, Erik, it's beautiful. I've just never been given something so… so expensive before."

"Hand it to me and I will set the time for you," he instructed. He reached out towards her and took the pocket watch from her slender fingers.

Sophie watched him as he wound up its mechanism and set it to the correct time, using his own pocketwatch as a guide. He snapped the lid shut with a click then reached out to settle it over her head. His hands brushed against the soft waves of her auburn hair as he released it. The pocket watch settle between her breasts.

"Now that it is set you will need to wind it daily to ensure that the mechanism does not fail," he advised her.

He watched her as she reached down and held it in her cupped hands. The corners of her mouth tipped down. His forehead furrowed under the mask.

"You are not pleased..." he stated with a note of wariness in his voice.

"No… Erik… I... I don't mean to be ungrateful. But I'm not used to such extravagant gifts. Where did you get it?" she asked.

"From the typical place Sophie," he said in exasperation. "I bought it from a clockmaker. Does this surprise you? Did you think that Erik had murdered and robbed some unsuspecting fop for it?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't you dare put words into my mouth, Erik. Can't you understand my surprise? My confusion? If you have the wealth to spend on such frivolities as a gold pocket watch then you have the wealth to leave this place and go wherever you wish!"

And then the evening's tensions peaked and suddenly Erik was shouting at her and she was yelling at him in return.

"And where is Erik to go, _mademoiselle_? Hmm? Can you answer me that? I have traveled the world and found it lacking. People are the same no matter where you go. They all throw rocks and jeer at monsters," he snarled at her.

Sophie closed the box lid with a sharp snap and fumed at him. "So the alternative is better? It is better to hole yourself up in an underground cave beneath a burned down opera house? You are living in a tomb, Erik! You surround yourself with memories of a tortured past and you revel in the anguish that it causes you. I think that to some degree that you like to play the tortured spirit because if you are the victim then surely you can't also be the villain."

His mouth flattened into a narrow line as his fist clenched the back of the velvet couch tightly. "You didn't mind me playing the villain so much when I killed your would be rapists. Your sensibilities were not so delicate then."

She reeled back from his words as if they had been a physical blow. "No. You're right, Erik. I was glad that they died. And I still am. They intended far worse for me. And if they'd succeeded in raping and killing me and then gotten caught and tried for their crimes they'd have been hung anyways." Her voice was breathy with shock.

The tension wound him tightly like a spring. He jumped up from the couch and from the corners of his eyes he watched her track him as he paced about the room.

"It is always Erik the villain, the phantom, the monster, the freak… the murderer. Never Erik the friend, the savior, the lover… the husband. Nevermind that other men use me for their convenience. I killed the Daroga's son, did you know? The boy was dying slowly and painfully. He was withering away before his father's eyes and the old man couldn't bring himself to spare his only child from the agony. His death was inevitable, but the reaper was taking his sweet time. The old man begged me on his knees to do it. And he's hounded me ever since. My conscience brought to life. The Shah and his foul mother twisted my ingenious designs for their own dark pleasures and who took the burden? Always Erik. The only safety there in Mazandaran was power. Erik the magician, Erik the sorcerer… Erik the executioner. Lay all of your sins and wickedness at the feet of the man whose face is as grotesque and twisted as a gargoyle. Nevermind the beauty that he creates! Erik must be a monster, for his face shows it to the world."

He laid a tense hand at the mask and ground it against tender flesh. The physical pain helped to clear the agony from his mind. Sophie sat on the couch at stared up at him mute and wide-eyed.

Erik paced back and forth before her like a wounded animal as he raged on. "This wretched face that drove two women to their deaths. They preferred death's cold embrace to a life filled with this face's horror staring back at them. Even my beautiful Christine could not bring herself to look upon it long... Christine! Oh... Christine!" he cried out with a sob.

He collapsed then and sank down onto his knees before the little velvet couch. He buried his masked face in his hands as a sob wracked his body and his shoulders shuddered. His tears turned silent in shame at his vulnerability.

Erik kneeled there before Sophie as he memories of his past haunted and tortured him. It was all he could do to remain upright and not fling himself at her feet and mercy.

He was startled and he flinched when a hand cupped his shoulder gently. Erik lifted his eyes to see Sophie slowly moving off the couch to kneel before him on the stone floor. He watched her settle herself. She set her wrapped leg to stretch out beside them.

Erik's head felt thick and slow. He let her pull him to her and buried his face into the crook of her neck as she wrapped her arms around him and stroked him.

The scent of the perfumed soap that lingered on her skin and in her hair washed over him and he felt a shudder wrack his body as she hugged him to her.

"Oh, Erik…" she murmured as he sobbed against her.

She shushed him and stroked his hair until he calmed. The fit passed and once again Erik was filled with shame. But deep within the feelings of despair and rage and hopelessness there was a tiny seed of triumph and satisfaction.


	12. Chapter 12

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 12

Sophie sat on the sofa huddled under a warm blanket. The siamese cat snored softly in her lap. She held the gold pocketwatch in her hand and stared at it's moving hands as it ticked and spun in its constant clockwise motion. She stared at it often. Her pinky distractedly traced the carving of the little bird and flowers. The gold was warm in her hand from holding it for hours. The timepiece had become a lifeline to her. It had a complicated facade of dials and tiny hands. The largest set of arrows in the middle told the time, like any other clock, but smaller inset clocks also told her the month, date, and the day of the week. She felt like time was moving past her in a blur.

It was March 10th, 1882. A month had passed and gone since Sophie had fallen through a that hole in the stage floor, and landed her in the phantom's lair. A month since she had seen her family or watered her flowers or told Emma a bedtime story as they laid together, sleepy and content.

Sophie's life was divided into two acts now as if it was an opera. Everything was either before her descent, or after. She tried not to think of the before too much. Thinking of her home and family made her heart ache too fiercely with despair over the thought that she would never see them again.

And she tried not to think about tomorrow too much either. Erik and tomorrow were both filled with too much uncertainty. His moods were chaotic and often unreadable. He would be absorbed in some new beautiful song that made her want to weep and tear at her hair, then angrily making harsh discordant notes on the pipe organ the next. Sophie found herself treading gently when he was in his black moods as she called them. They happened more rarely now, for which she was grateful. Sometimes there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to his mood swings. He was mercurial in his art, yet gentle and patient with her even when she raged at him, or sulked and cried. Ever since that evening when he'd confessed his sins and sobbed at her feet Erik had been strangely pleasant towards her. It unnerved her, although if she'd been pressed for an answer she wouldn't have been able to say exactly what was so disconcerting.

He was pleasant, in his own way, and over the last few weeks they had settled into a comfortable routine. Sophie would rise and while away her time in whatever pursuits she found amongst Erik's treasure trove of distractions. She'd paint, or draw, or read, or mend torn hems. If he was absent she would continue her search of his home. However, the blasted key was nowhere to be found. Her latest pursuit was adding contrasting stitching to the collar and cuffs of a plainer gown with some off bits of thread that she'd found tucked away in the back of some drawer in her search for her freedom. Then they would dine together. Or rather, she would eat and he would not. He would watch her eat her dinner, and afterwards they would drink wine and talk softly by the fire. She would eventually muster up the courage to ask him for her release, he would inevitably say no, and then she would go to her cold, bed alone and stare at the dark stone ceiling until she fell asleep.

Sometimes when he was absent for hours and she'd carefully tear the cave apart in her continued her search for the key. Other times the days would pass with his constant presence by her side. But that was weeks ago. He left her rarely, and just briefly, now. There was never enough time for a proper search anymore.

Sophie stared at the pocket watch in her hand. She could feel the vibrations of its ticking through the pads of her fingers if she was very quiet and still on the couch. The cat yawned in her sleep and exposed her sharp teeth for a moment before curling back up into sleep.

Footsteps echoed in the cavern and Sophie clicked the pocket watch shut and let it fall back into place against her chest. Erik's voice rang out to greet her and she turned in place on the sofa to watch his approach.

"Ah, Sophie, there you are," Erik greeted her. He was standing at the dining table and had set a sack of something heavy down upon it.

"How was your errand?" she asked him with a smile.

She shifted on the couch and heard the cat as it snuffed at her in irritation and lept away gracefully.

He loosened the opening of the sack and peeled back the rough cloth. "Come and see," he bade her.

Sophie reached a hand out to grasp for her cane out of habit. In the weeks that had passed since she'd broken her leg the bones had finally begun to heal and knit together. Her leg was stronger and walking was much less painful, but the cane afforded her extra balance for her otherwise slow and awkward gait. If she was very careful she could even walk a few steps without it.

She placed her weight onto it and rose to join Erik at the table. "Oh, my favorite!" she exclaimed as he pulled a bottle of sweet white wine from the sack and she inspected its label.

"What's the occasion?" she asked him.

His head tilted as he eyed her, "It's Friday. Have you forgotten? Nadir's man dropped off the groceries and said that his master will be late to dinner tonight. An overlong appointment, or something of that nature."

"How could I have forgotten?" she asked warmly and set the bottle of wine down.

"Knowing Nadir he won't actually be too far behind me. That man is the definition of punctual," he added.

Sophie watched as Erik gathered up the bag and its contents and carried it into the kitchen. She followed him and stood on the threshold as he put their week's food stores away.

"I'll cook tonight," she offered suddenly surprising the both of them.

Erik glanced at her quickly, then looked away again as he busied himself organizing the tins in the cupboard. "As you wish."

Sophie hadn't been able to decipher the strange and fleeting expression that she'd seen flash across the uncovered side of his face. It was so sudden that she couldn't even say with certainty that she'd truly observed it at all.

He brushed past her without another word on his way out of the kitchen and Sophie scrunched her long sleeves up on her forearms and set to work. Opening the cupboard doors she assessed the pantry's contents and took note of the various tins of neatly stacked seasonings and spices within. Erik's spidery handwriting labeled them all neatly. There were some that she had never heard of before which she let undisturbed. She made a mental note to ask him about their uses later.

She pulled her chosen ingredients from the shelf and set about her task. A thin, sharp knife was laid upon a cutting board and Sophie took the package of waxed paper wrapped meat from the sack and cut it open. Pulling out the raw chicken from within the package she began to prepare their dinner.

As she sliced and chopped and prepped their meal she began to hum absently. The familiarity and muscle memory of such a mundane task lifted her spirits higher than it had been in weeks. She had often cooked at home for her family to give her poor overworked mother some respite. And she hadn't realized how much she had been missing something that had previously felt like such a begrudging chore. Her hands worked without much forethought as they followed familiar patterns and a long ago memorized recipe.

Sophie laid the thin strips of flour coated chicken in the hot oiled pan and began to make a sauce in another cast iron pot with mushrooms and a thick pat of butter. She pulled out a drawer and rummaged in it before her hand emerged victoriously with a corkscrew. While the meat was browning and her butter melting she opened the bottle of wine with a _pop_ and gave a hearty splash of wine to the pot. She felt a brief and fleeting chagrin for the wine, but rationalized that the heat would cook out all of the alcohol leaving behind only the flavor, and _Monsieur_ Khan's Allah would surely understand that there was an artform to cooking. The stove pan's contents as she prepped their side dish next. Once it was done she turned the stove's heat down low and let it simmer and come together, then wiped her hands clean on a rag.

She picked her cane back up from where it was perched against the countertop and popped her head out of the kitchen.

"Erik, do you mind watching the stove while I change?" She saw him put down the papers that he'd been shuffling through as he stood by his desk.

He padded over silently and nodded.

She cast him a grateful smile, "it's simmering and reducing, just make sure that nothing burns, please."

Her cane tapped against the floor as she headed over into her room and let the curtain fall behind her. Sophie washed her hands in a basin of cold water and stripped her wrapper and chemise off. The air in the cave was always slightly cool and damp from the bordering lake and Sophie shivered as she quickly dressed again. She pulled a fresh chemise over her head and let the silky fabric fall down to her calf.

The trunk's lid creaked as she opened it wide. She pulled out her three suitable evening gowns and surveyed her choices for a moment before choosing the pale seafoam green dress. It was not the warmest of her gowns, and she seldom wore it because its pale color dirtied easily and she was loathe to destroy its ruffled hem by dragging it about the cavern floor, but it was her favorite. She smiled to herself as she laid it out on the bed.

Her corset was laid over the back of a chair that Erik had brought into her room one day. He'd set it down and then surprised her further by also bringing in a little mirrored vanity table. He'd placed it down for her in an empty corner of the room and left it there without a word of explanation. She used it now to organize her _toilette_ items. Tortoiseshell hair combs and paste gem hair pins and her manicure set cluttered the drawers. There was even a pot of rouge although Sophie had not yet gathered up the nerve to try it. Sophie took up the corset and with practiced ease she laced herself into it tightly. She sat at the vanity, leaning her cane against its side, and studied her complexion. Her skin had paled a little in the month that she'd spent underground with the phantom. But her cheeks had a healthy color to them that hadn't been there before. And her eyes were no longer tired or bruised from lack of sleep. Goodness knows there was little else to do down here but rest and sleep and read.

She ran a hairbrush through her hair until it was free of knots, then smoothed the waves back together with dampened hands. Gathering its length up she played with it at the back of her head before giving up with a sigh of frustration. She felt foolish and self conscious and she had never been skilled with putting it up anyways. Her mother had always helped her tame her unruly locks. All Sophie could manage was a simple braid or bun. She pulled a glittering hair pin from the drawer and tucked a lock behind her ear then pinned it into place. She left it down tonight to make up for the thin gown's lack of warmth.

Her bustle and petticoats were next. Sophie slipped the garments on and settled the underpinnings into place. She pulled the gown on and her fingers worked the long row of pearl buttons closed with the aide of a button hook. Grabbing the skirts and giving them a shake she settled them into place and fluffed the cream lined seafoam ruffles back into shape. She tucked her pocketwatch safely into place against her breast then buttoned the high collar of the gown and smoothed its ruffled neckline against the back of her neck.

As she pulled the room's dividing curtain aside she saw that their guest had arrived while she was dressing. Erik was standing near the Persian, their voices low in hushed conversation.

" _Monsieur_ Khan, you made it safely," she said welcomingly. "And you aren't late at all, you're just in time for dinner." Sophie smiled warmly and made her way over to join the two men where they were standing.

"Ah, my dear girl, how lovely you look this fine evening," the Persian replied. He held a bouquet of flowers out to her. "My apologies for my tardiness, _mademoiselle_. I hope this small gift excuses my rudeness."

Sophie took them gratefully, and leaning forward she placed a chaste kiss against the old man's offered cheek.

"You should be late more often, then!" she said with a quick laugh. Leaning her face into them she inhaled their springtime scent and sighed. "Lovely, _monsieur_ , although… you may want to consider a different florist next time. Your gift sends a strange message."

The Persian quirked a brow. "Indeed, _mademoiselle_?" he inquired. "I was not aware that flowers had a language."

She ran a thumb over the velvety petals. "Indeed, _monsieur_. The violets say faithful love, yet your white anemones say that you are forsaken. Still, I thank you for your thoughtfulness and I will cherish these."

The Persian laughed, "oh dear me, thank you. I shall have to trust your judgement then."

Sophie turned to Erik and met his amber gaze. "Erik, is there something that we can put these in?" she asked.

He reached out to take the bouquet from her. "Yes, I'll fetch a vase."

The Persian sidled up to Sophie and extended his arm out to her. She passed her cane to her other hand and leaned on him as he led her to the dining table. As they sat down Erik returned with a crystal vase of water and set the bouquet on the table before them, then left to fetch their dinner.

Once their places were set and they were all seated Sophie allowed herself a sip of wine. She savored the explosion of sweet honeysuckle and peaches on her tongue and sighed in contentment. Erik's eyes met hers across the table and she smiled as she cut her food and made small talk with the Persian.

Most of the meal passed in content, silent company as Sophie and _Monsieur_ Khan ate and Erik drank.

"How was your meeting, _monsieur_ Khan?" she asked eventually.

"Oh splendid, dear girl, splendid. I was meeting with the man who handles my finances. He brought me news of a new and promising investment opportunity in Egypt. They are building a luxury hotel for European and American tourists. Apparently an Egyptian honeymoon has become quite the thing." He paused to take a bite of his meal.

Erik's snort drew both their attentions and Sophie cast him a disparaging glance between bites of food.

"Really, Nadir?" Erik asked incredulously.

The Persian looked at him askance. "My investor is well informed." He set his fork and knife down on his now empty plate.

"I must say that was the best meal yet, Erik. You've outdone yourself this time," the Persian complimented him good-naturedly.

"You must thank Sophie," Erik replied.

The Persian exclaimed with delight, "ah! As talented as she is beautiful. You have my compliments, my dear. It was exquisite. Too many more meals like that and I will need to have my tailor let out my clothes," he said as he patted his rounded belly.

Sophie smiled and blushed and murmured her thanks then she steered the conversation away, "Have you ever been to Egypt, _monsieur_?" She took a sip of wine.

The Persian nodded thoughtfully, "only in passing, my dear, only in passing. I'd had quite enough of desert landscapes at the time, you see, to really appreciate its beauty. Although now that I think of it I do recall a rather funny story involving a trek across the sands near Giza with our caravan of camels-"

"-It bit him in the ass," Erik interrupted with a guffaw of laughter.

Sophie set her wine glass down so hard it clattered and sloshed a bit. "Erik!" she reprimanded.

Erik shrugged and averted his gaze up to the ceiling and tapped his fingers lazily on the table.

A high pitched, sing-song voice sang out from one of the flowers on the table.

" _Nadir tried too hard to pass,_

 _The camels reared, and crashed-_

 _and bit him in the ass!"_

Sophie gasped and covered her mouth. Her eyes darted to the centerpiece and she stared in shock and horror at the singing floral arrangement in front of her.

Had she gone mad? Had the shock and pain and weeks of solitude and closed-in suffocation in this claustrophobic and never-ending dark finally gotten to her? Her gaze darted between the Persian and Erik and she saw that neither was sharing in her reaction.

"Such childish antics, Erik..." the Persian muttered with ruddy cheeks.

Sophie glanced between the two men and let her hand drop to the arm of the chair.

"That… that was you?" she asked Erik. It sounded like madness to her even as she said it.

The voice hummed a soundless tune and bounced from flower to flower. Sophie watched Erik for any hint of movement of his mouth or throat but there was nothing. He was completely still as he stared at her. The intensity of his stare was disturbing and thrilling as some unknown feeling ran through her and shook her to her core. She glanced at the Persian who was smiling at her kindly. She shut her gaping mouth and blinked.

The flowers quieted and then their mocking song was done.

The Persian broke the silence first. "Erik was quite the magician back in his youth," he explained. "Tales of his show spread across many countries. They called him sir sorcerer. That is why the Shah initially brought him to Mazandaran... to be entertained at court."

Erik glanced at the Persian from the corners of his eyes. "Was?" he quipped, then snorted again.

Sophie leaned back and felt the tension ease from her shoulders. She hadn't realized that she'd been gripping the arms of her chair so hard until she let them go. "I had no idea…" she mused aloud. Her eyes shifted away from the Persian and back to Erik. "What else can you do?" she asked Erik with a note of wonder in her voice.

He pondered it for a moment and tapped his fingers on the table before he replied, "how about an after dinner show instead. Give me a few moments to make some preparations."

She nodded and smiled as Nadir helped her rise and cross the room to the sitting area. The the old Persian man stooped to stoke the fire for them. Sophie settled herself on the couch and a moment later the siamese cat had re-appeared from some unseen hiding place and was now settling herself in Sophie's empty lap. Sophie stroked the cat absently as the Persian sat beside her and regaled her with stories from his childhood.

They ignored the clatter coming from about the room as Erik rifled through trunks and drawers. Papers scattered about and fell and she heard Erik's muffled curses but she refused to turn and look and ruin the surprise. The cat purred loudly in Sophie's lap and lazily stretched a clawed paw out towards the Persian who shied away to avoid being scratched.

Sophie grasped the cat's clawed paw lightly in her hand to stop the lazy attack and she saw the Persian's discomfort.

"Do you not like cats, _monsieur_?" she asked him.

The Persian shook his head, "it is more the other way around I'm afraid. At least as far as the palace cats are concerned. Such troublesome felines. I don't know how Erik spirited one away without notice… or why he kept the dreadful thing..."

Sophie tilted her head as she absorbed this information. "This cat?" she asked.

"Ayesha, if I recall correctly. She was the Khanum's favorite. Erik stole her when we fled as some sort of childish revenge or prank," He shrugged. " I found her in his knapsack when we were three days ride away from Mazandaran and it was too late to set her free."

"What do you mean too late?" she asked.

The Persian shifted uncomfortably in his seat beside her. "As you may recall I told you that we left Persia under less than ideal circumstances. If they had seen a palace cat three day's rides away from the Palace then they would have known the direction that we traveled..." He shrugged nonchalantly and let his voice trail off.

Sophie stroked the cat absently."Yes, I do remember. Erik told me of his time there… a little. Although I suspect that there is much more to it all."

The Persian sat beside her quietly and the silence stretched between them. "Ayesha," she said softly, testing out the unfamiliar name, as she stroked the gently purring cat in her lap. The cat twisted lazily and barred a cheek for scratching and Sophie complied. She buried a fingernail into the cat's short velvet fur and scratched and felt the cat's rumbling purrs deepen.

The Persian changed the topic. "Tell me how you know the language of flowers, my dear," he asked.

She idly scratched the purring cat as they talked. "I grow them. My father bought me a book on floriography when he learned about my interest as a child. That is how I make my income... How I made my income. I sell… I sold the flowers that I grew. My father had restored the glass greenhouse that had been abandoned on our building's roof and the landlord let us be its sole users in return for his work. It lets me grow whatever I desire regardless of the season."

"Oh how marvelous. Your father sounds like he is a resourceful and talented man," the Persian added benevolently.

Sophie's smile was sad and wistful, "he was…"

"I'm sorry, my dear girl… I seem to have treaded upon another sad topic." The Persian reached out and gave her free hand a gentle squeeze.

"It's quite alright, _monsieur_. He passed away quite some time ago when I was a little girl."

"I too know the sting of loss," he volunteered. "I lost my wife in childbirth, and then my son was very ill until he… passed a few years later in his youth."

Sophie's gaze rose to meet the Persian's eyes too fast as his words registered. So there was some truth then to Erik's story, then. It had been too horrible to believe, yet the Persian was here to confirm it at least in part. Her breath hitched.

Her face softened in compassion as she noticed the Persian's sorrowed expression, "we must celebrate them as they lived, I think. And remember them fondly, and know that they are at peace now."

The Persian squeezed her hand again and smiled sadly, "you speak the truth, Sophie. You are wise beyond your young years."

Their attention turned as the rummaging stopped and Erik made his way over to them at the sofa. He'd taken the time to don his black vest and black wool overcoat. The effect was dramatic. He carried the vase of flowers and set it before them on a stool. He left again and returned quickly handing a shuttered oil lamp to the Persian and placing an easel with a large piece of blank paper a few feet behind the flowers.

Sophie clapped her hands in anticipation and settled in to enjoy the demonstration. The cat hissed her displeasure at being jostled.

Erik placed one hand over his stomach and bowed before them. "Nadir, if you would please direct the light."

The Persian nodded and turned the lantern so that it followed Erik as he moved.

The flowers began to sing just as they had before, but the melody was different. This time they sang a familiar, cheerful nursery rhyme. It was one that her mother had sung to her often when she was a small child and could not sleep. She smiled widely and let her gaze wander between the singing flowers and the masked man who stood beside them.

As the last notes of the song faded she clapped her hands together. Erik bowed again, and as he straightened up he flicked his wrist and suddenly one of the violets from the bouquet was in his hand. With a small flourish he presented it to Sophie.

She laughed and went to take it from him. He placed the small blossom in her hand, then cupped his hands around hers. She curled her fingers under his and he released her. There was a slight quirk of his lips that Sophie would mistake for a smile if it wasn't so small of a movement. She opened her hand and looked down into her palm and gasped when she saw that there was a large cut amethyst instead of the expected flower. Her fingers ran over the cool stone's facets. It was the largest gem she'd ever seen. She laughed at the surprise and placed it in her lap beside the sleeping cat. He withdrew his hands with a flourish and she clasped her fingers together tightly in her lap in demure anticipation as he continued their entertainment.

Erik stepped back into position and Sophie grinned up at him as she patiently waited for him to continue.

She didn't have long to wait because he pulled a deck of playing cards from a pocket within his jacket. Sophie watched his hands' graceful movements as he shuffled the deck, then fanned the cards out so that their numbers faced her and her alone.

"Pick one," he commanded as he held the fan of cards before her. "But keep it secret from me. Show it to Nadir if you'd like."

She ran her hands over the tops of the cards and eyed him suspiciously as she pulled one free. Carefully she showed the card to the Persian. The queen of hearts.

Erik held the fanned out deck towards her again and bade her to replace the card.

Sophie stuck it in a random spot of the deck and watched him as he shuffled. The flowers sang another song as his long fingers sorted and moved cards around.

"Is this your card?" he asked her as he held the fanned out deck aloft and plucked the queen of hearts from within the deck. He tilted his hand backwards so that the face of the deck was visible. The other cards were blank. There was not a single one that had a design or marking other than her queen of hearts.

Her mouth dropped open in stunned surprise as she took the queen of hearts from him and reached out to touch the other blank cards in his hand.

"How did you…" she murmured as she felt the white faceless cards. They were real and solid beneath her fingertips. The Persian chuckled beside her and Sophie dropped her hand away in stunned silence.

Erik took the card from her and made the deck disappear into some hidden inner pocket of his jacket. His mouth tipped upward in a satisfied looking grin.

From another pocket within his coat Erik pulled out a thin blade and held its sharp tip aloft to catch the light.

"The spotlight, Daroga," he said as he flashed the blade. It glinted ominously in the light. Its edge was sharp and gleaming as he waved it in the air. He moved back to step behind the stool and flowers until he was standing beside the easel.

The Persian shifted the shuttered gas lamp until its glow cast its light upon flowers and threw their shadow onto the pad of paper.

Erik placed his knife blade upon the shadow of one of the flowers and studied the bouquet intently. With a sudden movement he stabbed the pad of paper and twisted the blade sharply. A white flower separated from its stalk and fell onto the stool.

Sophie's breath hitched in amazement and the hand that had been idly stroking the cat paused.

Erik stared intently at the bouquet of flowers, then he turned his gaze back towards the pad and placed the knife at the shadow of another anemone. He pierced the paper and twisted the blade and Sophie watch as another flower twisted on its stem, perfectly in time with the turning of the blade, and then was separated from its stalk and the blossom was falling to join its sister on the seat of the wooden stool.

Her breath shuddered as he repeated the trick until all of the anemones had been beheaded. The white blooms with their black centers lay scattered and forgotten on the stool.

He held the wicked blade aloft again and the cold metal caught the light and gleamed. Erik's eyes flashed like liquid gold in the spotlight. He placed the tip against his thumb and pantomimed a cut, a small jerking motion and a flinching of the shoulders in mock pain.

Her breathing hitched as he held the cut hand up in the air before the easel. The shadow of his hand was mirrored on the paper behind it. A long trailing liquid shadow dripped down the page, although no drop fell onto the floor at his feet. The shadow trailed a path down the page and Erik placed his hand against the pad. His fingertips dragged across the surface, and where his fingers met the paper they turned the shadow into blood and he smeared its redness across the page as proof.

Sophie wasn't aware that she was holding her breath until she took a gulp of air. The Persian was equally silent beside her. The cat yawned, bored, and leapt away from her lap.

Erik studied her with an unreadable expression and she stared at him with wide eyes in return.

"Rather morbid, don't you think, Erik?" the Persian asked with a note of irritation in his voice.

"No," Sophie answered for him. "It's beautiful in its sadness." Her eyes followed Erik as he set the sharp blade down and pulled the unharmed violets from the vase.

Erik tipped his head down and held the remainder of her flower bouquet to her as he presented them and concluded his show with a deep and final bow.

Sophie swallowed and reached out and took them from him. Her hand grabbed his and turned the palm over to inspect the pads of his fingers. The hand that he had cut. She laid the flowers, forgotten, in her lap and reached out to grasp his other hand. She turned that one over too and saw that the pads of both his thumbs were smooth. There was no cut to mar the skin. The red liquid that stained his fingertips wiped away as she rubbed at it. The flesh was whole and unmarked underneath.

"Well… I believe that is my cue to leave. I bid you a good evening, Sophie," the Persian interrupted. The old man stood and gathered his things. Erik pulled his hands away gently and escorted the man out without another word.

Sophie barely registered his departure as she stared at the bundle of violets and the amethyst jewel in her lap. Faithful love. The flower's meaning came to her suddenly. She turned her head to find him again but saw that the room was empty and she was quite alone.


	13. Chapter 13

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 13

Erik stared down at the plate of his reheated dinner. She had cooked. She had cooked for _him_. No one had ever done such a thing for Erik before. His mother had certainly never intentionally cooked for him. In his youth he had stolen the food that others had prepared. When he was older and he had two coins to rub together he would purchased ready made food in various market places around the world. But no one had ever made a meal for _him_ specifically to enjoy. With trembling hands he cut a piece of chicken and chewed it slowly. He savored every bite and ate until his plate was bare, then sopped a piece of bread in the remaining sauce and cleaned his plate. He'd be damned if he didn't eat every single bite. She'd made it for him to enjoy and nothing would keep him from doing just that.

He took a sip of wine, her favorite, to wash the bread down, and then set the empty glass down on the table beside his cast off mask.

She'd been startled when he made the flowers sing. He'd seen the fear in her wild eyes when she hadn't known that he was watching her. He was always watching her even when he pretended otherwise. But later she had sat and sighed and clapped and called his show beautiful.

Old memories surfaced from days long past. He remembered his pitch black tent and his team of loyal horses. They'd been broken easily for him and followed his voice commands without the need of bit or bridle. He would set himself up at the outermost edge of the markets wherever he stopped to re-supply or make some cash. He was careful to set himself just far enough a way to not be a part of their little village or town, but not so far away that they could ignore him completely. He'd perform a show or two every evening for the children and adults who gathered before him. They said they came to be amazed. He _was_ amazing. But most of them actually came to be frightened. And so he was frightening. There were always a few stragglers who'd refuse to leave his emptying tent until he took off his mask and showed them the devil that they'd paid their pennies to see. He'd moan and wail at them and watch them flee in terror, their coins dropping from their hands at his feet. The living corpse. The name of his show was carefully advertised on the opening flap of his tent. He'd drawn and painted the design himself. They knew what they were buying.

Erik rubbed a hand against the ruination that was the right side of his face. The skin was uneven and its texture was strange. It stretched in places where it should fill and drooped in places where it shouldn't. His right nostril was half sunken in and flattened against the right side of his nose. The cartilage structure beneath it had never formed and connected properly. His fingers glided over the uneven, puckered texture of his right cheek before feeling at the edges of his wig and the depression of his misshapen temple. He sighed and picked up the white half mask and placed it on his deformed face. The wire fit snugly and securely around his head and he fastened it with fingers that were well accustomed to the familiar movement.

She had cooked for him.

She had called his magic beautiful.

In essence, she had called his soul beautiful. For that's what his art and music was to him- his soul.

Erik rose and strode across the cave until he stood outside of the Louis Philippe room. His footsteps made no noise as he padded across the uneven stone floor. He paused and listened for her deep and even breathing. When he was convinced that she slept he gingerly moved the curtain aside and watched her sleeping form. Sophie's hair fanned out in auburn waves across the bed.

She had hugged him as he'd cried.

She had cooked for him.

She had called his art beautiful.

She had accepted the violets and touched his hands.

Erik watched her chest rise and fall with her steady breathing for a moment before he let the curtain drop back down between them.

Thoughts jumbled through his head and clashed against one another. He cast his eyes about the room as he considered what it was that she desired most. Flowers were easy enough. Perhaps not real ones which would wither away without proper sunlight and be a constant reminder of her imprisonment. But substitutions could be made. He had the skills. Her family, he pondered, was the true challenge. A memory clicked and he recalled her soft conversation with Nadir on the sofa. She had a greenhouse garden on her roof. That could not be incredibly common in paris.

Quietly and without another thought he moved away from her room. She'd sleep for several hours yet. He took his heavy cloak and wide brimmed hat down from their pegs and switched his white half mask for the black domino. Cloaked in shadows Erik slid the secret mirrored panel open to reveal the winding, narrow staircase. He took the steps two at a time and made his exit up into the cold Parisian night.

The stairs seemed endless but his legs were strong and he was only a little bit winded once he reached the top of his arduous climb.

There was no one out and about on the street at this late hour of the night… or rather the morning. Iced over snow covered the ground and crunched under his feet as he walked away from the burned out ruin of his abandoned opera house. He deduced that Sophie must live nearby if she had ended up in his lair. From what little she had told him it seemed unlikely that she had spared the coins to travel via a hired hackney cab. And from the quality of the clothing and the worn leather of her old boots he could strike several neighborhoods off of his mental list. She was young and healthy before her accident and he supposed that she could cover a few kilometers if she so desired, but he doubted that she'd have ventured too far from home in the height of winter.

He decided to search southwards first. He turned on his heels and headed towards the nearest slums.

Hours passed as Erik made his search of the city. When he reached the Seine he moved Eastward. He'd save the area of Paris south of the river for another day. Instead, he meandered in a spiral pattern from the center of the roughest neighborhood near the Bastille. He kept to the shadows cast on the street in between the gas fueled street lights that lined the cobbled path. His head turned from side to side as he swept his gaze along the buildings' rooflines.

There!

A flash of moonlight glinted off a pane of glass high up on a rooftop.

He turned down another little side street and then he gazed upon it fully. Sophie's home was a nondescript building with peeling white paint along the shuttered windows. It was located in a rough working class neighborhood that had seen better days but looked safe enough for families. The peak of the greenhouse's glass roof shined in the moonlight if he stepped just so in the street. He searched the area for the nearest street sign and made note of the address. The windows of the building were dark as its residents slept in their beds ignorant of the man who stalked outside. But that would change soon. Already the sky was beginning to lighten in the predawn hours. The sleeping workers would rise soon to start their daily toil. He needed to be far from here when that happened.

Erik pulled the pocket watch from within his cloak and noted the hour. He pulled his wide brimmed hat down further on his head and let its shadows fall across his face. His feet crunched in the snow as he spun on his heels and made the trek back towards his opera house.

He took a different route back in case someone had seen his odd journey. And as he made his return trip home he passed a row of shops that he rarely perused. This was not his usual haunt.

Something glittered in the brightening sky and a glint of reflected light caught his eye. He turned to see what had sparked his interest and found himself looking into the display case of a jeweler's store. He forced his gaze away. It was too soon. He thought that he should leave.

He turned his head and looked again.

A ring in the shape of a blossoming rose sat in the centermost display. A large center diamond was cupped by petals made of smaller, sparkling stones. The band waved and twisted and little offshoots of accent leaves and thorns were similarly paved with glittering gems.

He forced his gaze away. Too soon by far, he thought. She'd only just begun to touch him without recoiling. She'd only just started to smile at him. Patience was required, even if it chaffed. He wouldn't make that particular mistake again.

One foot in front of the other he forced himself to step away from the ring in the display case.

Erik continued his return trip home. Half formed plans and ideas swirled in his mind. The beginning notes of a song came to him from nowhere and crowded out his other thoughts. An unfamiliar feeling bubbled up inside him. He pondered it and turned it this way and that. He labeled it hope. With a clenched fist Erik shoved it back down deep inside of him.

Too soon by far. There was much to be done in the meantime. With a lightness in his step that had not been there for quite some time Erik headed home.

A little while later Erik had returned to his underground abode. He put his cloak and hat back on their pegs. He checked on Sophie and saw that she was still asleep. And then he busied himself at his desk. He took out his pot of ink and pen and a slip of blank paper and he dipped the pen in the fine, red liquid. It scratched against the paper as he wrote and Erik's spidery handwriting appeared neatly. Mentally he made his plans, and his bony hand flashed in the candlelight as he scrawled out his list of required supplies.

Erik looked up from his stacks of paper. His pen had stopped in the middle of drawing a perfectly straight line and created a blob of messy red ink that obliterated his calculations. He cursed himself. He'd ruined this draft and would need to transfer his work and begin again. He paused in his consideration of what had distracted him. What noise was that? He held completely still and strained to listen. And there it was again. A faint slap and then a long dragging sound. It was so very faint that he wasn't sure he'd even heard it at all.

He pushed the stool back from his desk and stood. But where was it coming from? The acoustics of his cavern could sometimes make sounds reverberate strangely. He paced the perimeter of the entire cavern until it led him finally to the Louis Philippe room. Pausing, he strained and listened again. There it was, faint, but there.

The curtain blocked his view but his ears heard the distinct sound again and again. Wet plopping, then dragging. He stood outside the curtain divider, one hand raised to grasp its edge, and he paused.

 _He should not invade her privacy._

But then he remembered Christine's episode with the little silver sewing scissors. Fear coiled in his gut. He could not bear the thought of another episode like that one. He shivered and let his fingers just barely touch the surface of the draped fabric. Perhaps there was a compromise here.

"Sophie," he called out softly.

The sounds ceased. A moment passed in drawn out agony. He was on the verge of repeating himself when he heart her timid reply.

"Yes?" Her voice was strange… hesitant. Not afraid, but cautious.

"Are you… alright?" he inquired.

"Yes… why?," she replied timidly. Her voice was definitely hesitant. His concern solidified. Privacy be damned.

"I'm coming through," he told her. He waited a moment, then pulled the curtain aside.

He was most definitely not prepared for the site that greeted him. Sophie stood at the far end of the cave. And she was covered head to toe in paint. There was a stripe of white across the bridge of her nose and a splatter of indigo along her jaw. She'd even managed to get a bit of green in the hair at her temple. And as decorated as her face was her hands were even worse. The tips were coated in a rainbow of colors. His eyes widened at the site she made.

Sophie shifted nervously on her feet, then turned her head to look at the painted wall beside her. She chewed at her bottom lip and her fingers twirled the paintbrush absently in her hand.

"Perhaps… I should have asked first?" she questioned out loud. Her teeth worried at her lower lip as she often did when she was thinking.

His eyes shifted from her to the wall behind her. Sophie had turned the barren rocky stone wall into a garden that exploded with color and life. The mural stretched from the floor to the highest point that he supposed her short stature could reach. Her bare, splattered feet were surrounded by empty tubes of paint.

"No… it's lovely," he said calmly. His glance shifted from the wall to her. "I'll fetch you the stool."

She smiled at him warmly then and the twirling paintbrush in her hand stopped.


	14. Chapter 14

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 14

Two nights later Sophie was sitting on the couch enjoying the fire and the purring cat in her lap. She sipped her cup of tea, then moved to set it on its saucer on the nearest side table. A thundering, wild scream ripped through the air. She dropped the tea cup on the saucer and watched its liquid contents spill all over the table.

 _What on Earth was that?_

Sophie craned her head around in time to see Erik stomping through the cavern. His normally meticulously kempt appearance was now bedraggled. The sleeve of his shirt hung open from shoulder to wrist and his bare arm was visible through the giant tear.

She shooed the cat from her lap, grabbed her cane, and stood.

In the time it took her to do all of that he'd already crossed the room and he was rummaging through the drawers.

"Where the hell is that blasted spool of thread," he cursed. He shut the drawer angrily and roughly pulled open another.

"It's not in that one," she told him.

Erik paused his search to turn and glance at her.

"It's in the top left drawer," she offered.

He turned again and rummaged through the top left drawer pulling out a spool of white thread with a needle stuck into it. The drawer shut with a _thud_ and Erik turned. He grabbed at the wreckage of his split open sleeve and cursed again.

"What happened?" she asked.

He frowned and stared intently at the gashed fabric. "A spring sprang, when instead it should have coiled."

Sophie stared at the man in exasperation. She watched as he deftly threaded the needle and attempted to stitch the gaping hole himself while he was wearing it. And of course he was making an absolute mess of stitching it back together.

"Stop," she ordered, "or you'll make in unfixable and then you'll have to throw it into the rag pile." She set her cane down against the desk.

His eyes cut up at her sharply but she ignored him and pried the needle and thread from his hands. She stood there holding it in her hands as she looked at him expectantly.

Erik's eyes darted from her to the torn sleeve and back up at her again. "Well?" he asked in a strange whisper.

"I can't stitch it together with you wearing it, Erik," she explained slowly. "And I can't stand for the hour that it will take me to do it properly." She shrugged. "Go and take it off and then I'll fix it."

He tilted his head and looked like he was going to argue, and then he closed his mouth and started to untie the shirt's collar.

Heat rushed up Sophie's neck and face when she realized that he meant to undress right there in front of her. She ducked her face and focused on the threaded needle in her hand. Out of her periphery she saw the white shirt being pulled up and over and then he was handing it to her.

She reached out and took the tattered shirt from him, her eyes refusing to look at anything but her hands. In her periphery she caught the sight of a lean, muscled torso dusted with a light coating of dark hair that trailed… She averted her eyes even more. Her face felt like it was on fire and her bottom lip found its way between her teeth as she chewed on it in her nervousness. He stepped away from her without another word.

Sophie counted to three then lifted her head and watched him in his retreat. His back was broad and we'll muscled, but the flesh was covered in odd lines and stripes. It had taken Sophie a moment to decipher that what she'd seen was the crisscrossing of old, healed scars.

She gasped loudly and clutched the shirt to her chest in horror.

Erik spun around and saw her shocked expression. His hand rose to his touch his mask then fell away empty. The visible side of his face contorted in a silent question.

"Oh, Erik… your back…" she said as raised her free hand up to her mouth.

Sophie saw a range of emotions fly across Erik face.

"Oh… the scars…" he murmured.

Her hand crushed the shirt, it's ragged state now forgotten. "Those aren't just scars Erik, those are whip marks, aren't they?"

"Yes," he replied in an even voice, "but they are very old. I'd forgotten about them, actually."

She looked at him sadly. "What happened?" She asked in a strangled voice.

He looked away from her and refused to meet her gaze.

"It was a very long time ago Sophie."

Sophie leaned her weight against the desk for support.

Erik was at her side a moment later. His arm reached out as if to steady her but instead hovered in the air just beside her, ready to catch her if she fainted.

Sophie set the now forgotten shirt and spool of thread aside on the desk. She closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath. After she had calmed herself she raised her eyes to his. His face was as blank and unreadable as his white half mask.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to be reminded of something so horrible. I… I understand," she added softly.

He appeared thoughtful as he looked at her for a little while and then he moved to perch beside her against the table.

The movement felt strangely intimate, especially since he was still only half clothed. Sophie let her gaze fall safely to the ground.

"When I was a child," he began to explain, "I left home and went out into the wilderness. A band of gypsies found me. They kept me as one of their… performers. Javert had more faith in the stick, than in the carrot. He was unkind at his best, and monstrously cruel at his worst. I learned so many of my skills there in the years that I spent with the people. And that's also where I killed for the first time."

"To escape?" Sophie supplied.

Erik nodded. "One of the girls had run off to be with her gadjo lover. The boy left her afterwards. And when they found her and her spoiled virginity, she claimed that I had raped her. Javert came to kill me that night. I strangled him with his own whip instead and fled. The young _Madame_ Giry was there that night. She helped me… hid me away in the old theater where she was training to be a ballerina."

Sophie's eyes misted as she kept her eyes trained on the ground between them. How could a person survive such an ordeal as a child?

"How old were you?" she asked. She wasn't sure she wanted the answer.

He considered her question. "Nine or ten, I think. I'm not really certain. I was with them for a few years, although it's difficult to say for certain how old I really was or how long I traveled with them."

The thought of what he'd gone through when he was just a child made her shiver.

Erik reached his hand along the table and clasped hers tightly. "Sophie it wasn't true," he said with a desperate note in his voice.

She looked at him then in confusion. "What?" she asked.

His eyes seemed so sad. "I never touched the girl. I've never forced myself on a woman like that."

She understood him then in that moment. He thought that her sadness and revulsion was about the girl. The one who'd claimed that he'd raped her. But he was a child. How could anyone think such a thing?

Sophie shifted her hand so that their fingers intertwined where they lay on the desk. Something in her sensed that he needed the reassurance.

She tilted her head towards him and spoke softly, "I never thought that you did. And that's not why I'm upset. No child should ever be beaten like that. There's nothing that a child could do that would deserve such a punishment. And I'm glad that you escaped that. But I'm sad for you that it took such drastic matters for you to gain your freedom."

He let his head drop and was silent for a while. "I don't think that anyone has ever really been sad for me before. What a strange… concept."

They stood like that silently for a little while longer until Erik broke the moment by stepping away. Sophie felt the pad of his thumb slide across the edge of her hand. But he was walking away from her now before she could guess if it had been intentional or imagined.

Sophie stared at the broad shoulders and lean muscles of his back as he disappeared. Her blush reared back to life as she stared shamelessly at him in his retreat.

A week and a half had passed by in a blur since that dinner with the Persian. _Madame_ Giry had come for the laundry again yesterday and taken away Sophie's dirty clothing and another secret note. The old woman had assured her once again that the note had been placed in Emma's hand directly. There was no reply for Sophie to read and take comfort in, although the old woman had told her that Emma appeared well and did not seem overtly distressed. Sophie tried to be patient, and mostly she succeeded.

The Persian had joined them again last Friday for their weekly dinner. Erik played the violin for them after they had eaten and they drank a strange, thick, spiced Persian tea that the old man had brought with him. Days passed. _Madame_ Giry had come again on Monday. There was still no written reply from home. Sophie tried to be patient, but mostly she failed.

The flowers began to arrive the next day.

There were daisies on Tuesday. _Innocent beauty_.

And white heather on Wednesday. _Protection_.

Thursday brought her honeysuckle. _Affection._

Today's bouquet was a mixture of cheerful white petaled ox eyes and the tiny clustered blooms of purple heliotrope. _Patient devotion._

Sophie sat on the shore of the lake and stared dumbly at the half filled sketchbook page in her lap. She wiped a bit of charcoal off of her fingers as she contemplated the things that had been gnawing at her lately. Her head felt slow and sluggish in the midst of the tumultuous thoughts that plagued her.

 _He had killed some unknown number of men, yet he had saved her life._

 _She had watched him rage, and she had seen him weep in despair and grief._

She had cried as he'd played his sad, aching melodies, and she had laughed as he delighted her with one slight of hand trick or another. He'd told her about great long ballads of Greek and Roman myths, and he'd begun to regale her with the stories from his favorite operas. And if she grew cross with him for some small thing then a random object in her vicinity would sing a little tune until she couldn't help but laugh. It was very hard to remain irritated when one's teacup was singing a sea chanty, or a bawdy Tavern song that made her blush.

 _He had built an amazing opera house, and he had burned it down to ashes._

There was a playful lightness to him lately. It brightened his mood and made their evenings pass in quiet, companionable conversation. He very rarely took to his pipe organ now. Some evenings he would play his violin for her while she sat by the fire and stroked Ayesha's fur or mended some torn piece of clothing. Sophie idly wondered if he was ripping the clothes on purpose now to give her something to do. Erik was not usually a clumsy man. Other evenings she would retire early and read a bit in bed or finish her embroidery project. He seemed absorbed in some task that he kept hidden from her. When she retreated to her bedchamber to be alone, which she did rarely, he never intruded on her. She was grateful for his respect of her privacy. But as his moods lightened, hers darkened.

 _He had taken the soprano prisoner, and then he'd set the woman and her lover free._

 _He'd saved her from her attackers, but he'd kept her as his prisoner._

Was it love, then? The price that the singer had paid in order to be set free? Sophie wondered if those were his plans for her. If that was the reason for the flowers. Erik did not appear to be a man who did things by halves. Sophie didn't think that he was ignorant to the meanings of his gifts. Not after she'd told both him and the Persian that she was well versed in the art of communications via flowers. She'd had no idea at the time that he'd remember such an inconsequential detail, or that he would seek out that knowledge to respond in kind. She couldn't have known that he'd known the language as well, or that he'd learn it. It was entirely surprising. The first two times she'd ignored it as coincidence. But four times made a pattern.

The message was clear, now. The phantom was wooing her. She was certain of it. What she was uncertain about were his actual intentions. And even more curiously, she was uncertain of her own feelings of the matter. She should be shocked or outraged. Sophie waited for those feelings to come and overwhelm her. But they never did. It was disconcerting and confusing.

He planned to keep her here, that much was clear. But in the six weeks that she had lived with him he had never stepped out of line or taken a single advantage. With the differences in their statures and her injured leg it wasn't as if she'd have been able to stop him if he had decided otherwise one night after too much wine. He could have easily overpowered her and forced himself on her. Instead he had been patient. He had chosen to be kind. He had brought her gifts and made her laugh and sung her silly songs and brought her flowers that spoke of love.

How cruel of him to keep her prisoner here, and then treat her kindly. It made her head hurt and her heart ache whenever she thought of it. Her stomach flip flopped now whenever he came near. Their cool and easy patterns of interaction had been turned upside down. It made her feel dizzy and it gave her butterflies.

How could a man who was older than her by at least a decade seem so childlike at times? His temper, his impulsiveness, his mood swings. The isolation explained quite a lot. The fractured, tumultuous, and often violent childhood explained it even further. Sophie sighed and closed her eyes and tried to imagine what her life might have turned out like if she'd lost her entire family as a small child. If she'd been abandoned to the wild and beaten and starved and mocked by everyone. She shivered from the sense of dread that settled over her.

Sophie looked up from her now smudged drawing of the cat and let her eyes roam about the glassy lake. She felt bereft and lonely and she wondered how he had borne it through the years that he'd lived down here all alone. No wonder he had taken the soprano captive. No wonder he had kept Sophie here after saving her. One cat and a few hours of conversation on Fridays were not enough company to keep a person entirely sane.

A small stone skittered down the rocks that made the path until it landed harmlessly beside her on the pebbled beach by the lake. It drew her attention up from her ruined drawing. Erik stood over her on the raised flooring of the cavern. He looked down at her in silent question.

She looked away and chewed her bottom lip. Sophie set the drawing aside as he climbed down the rocky path and joined her on the beach. He tucked his legs underneath him as he sat as near to her as he could get without them touching. He never took advantage or assumed.

"You're sad and withdrawn today," he stated succinctly.

Sophie chewed her lip and nodded. She cast her eyes down at her charcoal smudged fingers and tried to rub them clean. Instead she merely manage to blacken the rest of her hands.

"Has… something happened, Sophie?" he asked timidly.

"No," she replied petulantly. She rubbed her dirty fingers against the damp pebbles of the shore.

"You fidget when you're upset," he added, "won't you tell me what's the matter?"

She forced her hands to be still, then drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She leaned the side of one cheek against her legs and her head tipped to the side so that she could regard him. "I'm sad today is all. I'm allowed to be sad sometimes, Erik."

"Of course," he replied. He settled into place and turned his face to stare out at the lake.

Sophie took the opportunity to study the unmasked portion of his face. If she titled her head just right the edge of the white mask disappeared. He'd have been fairly handsome, she thought, If whatever twist of fate hadn't forced him to wear the mask. She didn't fantasize that he was whole and unblemished underneath it's cold, smooth white surface. No man would ever wear such a mask if he felt he did not have to.

She'd seen the horrors that some men were forced to bear when she had visited her dying father in the hospital. There was a man who had slept three cots down who'd had his face and torso badly burned in a fire. Sophie recalled her terror when she'd seen him unbandaged for the first time. He'd had no ears or nose or hair left. One eye had turned white and milky and the lower lip of his mouth was puffy and twisted downward as if it was just moments away from melting off his face. His lips were mangled into a constant wordless scream. She'd seen him that time when the nuns were changing his dressings. She'd screamed at the sight of him. The poor man had wept and been inconsolable. The nuns quietly ushered her out and she'd felt shame for the first time ever that she could remember from her youth. He died less than a week later and she remembered praying fervently for the poor man's soul. She'd believed in God then.

Erik stayed completely still except for his amber eyes which turned to meet her gaze.

She ought to be ashamed of herself for staring at him like that. She wasn't.

"I'm sorry," she offered suddenly.

He arched his brow, "for what?"

She sighed deeply, "for being so maudlin today."

"I can't really judge you for it, Sophie. I've had blacker days than yours. You've seen a few."

She nodded, "Still… I've been poor company today."

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. It was the closest he had ever come to smiling. "I'll gladly take your company… even when it's poor."

She smiled at him sadly then turned her head and buried her eyes in her skirts.

He was quiet as he sat beside her. Sophie heard a series of small splashes and looked up quickly. A small rock was gliding across the surface of the smooth lake. It made it halfway to the algae covered iron portcullis, then sank below the dark water's surface.

"More magician's tricks?" she asked, a note of interest in her voice.

He chuckled. "Have you never skipped a stone before?"

She shook her head. "No," she added redundantly.

"I'll show you then," he offered. Erik stood and held his hands out to her to help her up.

Sophie barely had to make an effort as he pulled her up onto her feet. Her cast slipped on the uneven surface below it and she threw her hands out in front of her as she wobbled on her feet. Her hands landed squarely on his firm chest and he reached an arm out to grasp her by her waist and steady her.

Heat washed over her cheeks as Sophie felt herself blush. He steadied her, then withdrew his arm slowly from around her. His fingers traced a path across her back in their withdrawal and she suppressed a shiver. A moment later he was bending and placing something cold and damp and solid in her hand.

"You want one with a broad, flat surface," he instructed.

She nodded dumbly and inspected the stone. Her blush receded and she tucked a strand of hair that had escaped back behind her ear.

He pantomimed a throwing motion while keeping his arm level, "like this, so that it skips without sinking."

She took the rock and felt its flat, smooth surface, then held it up and threw it. It flew two feet and sank directly into the lake. She groaned.

Erik chuckled and gathered up more stones and picked through them while throwing a few back down at their feet. He handed her one, then pantomimed the throwing motion again.

Sophie watched him as he twisted at the hip, his arm kept level and his hand flung out. His stone skipped seven times then hit the iron portcullis with a clang and sank.

"Oh, now you're just showing off," she grumbled.

He smirked at her, "I didn't know that you were such a sore loser."

She threw him a dirty look then turned back to the lake and tried to skip another stone. It sank with a sad plop. She scowled and bent over to sort through the rocks at her feet. Finding one that was smooth and long and light she picked it up and tried again. This one sank too. She threw her hands up in frustration and made an unladylike noise.

Erik laughed. "You aren't keeping your arm level," he advised.

"I am too!" she yelled at him crossly with her hands placed defiantly in fists on her hips.

Erik rolled his eyes and handed her another stone. But before she could raise her arm and throw it he'd walked around her until he was standing at her back. His hand reached out and cupped hers and he stepped into the distance between them. His hip brushed against her backside as he bent her arm in the correct motion. She threw the stone. It skipped across the lake three times, then sank. Sophie barely paid attention to it as she felt the length of his strong, broad frame against her back. Her blush returned. She felt the warm heat blooming across her face and neck. Her heart pounded in her chest. The pad of his thumb traced along the curve of her hand and she shivered. His other hand at the narrowest part of her waist grasped her lightly.

Before Sophie could think of something to say he'd released her and stepped away. "Nadir will arrive for dinner shortly."

Sophie turned and watched him go. Bending down to pick up another smooth, flat rock she tossed it and watched it skip across the lake four times before finally sinking. She turned again and peered into the raised floor that made up the main living space of the cavern but she'd found that Erik had disappeared from her view. She tried to squash the strange fluttering feeling that was unsettling her. Mostly, she failed.


	15. Chapter 15

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 15

Erik leaned against the stone wall of the opera populaire as he waited for Nadir to arrive. He'd left his vest and jacket and cape inside. The cold would clear his head. He clenched and unclenched his hands down at his side. He could still feel the ghost of her on his skin where he had held her. He could still feel the warmth of her hands on his chest. He closed his eyes and wrestled for control. The cold of the wall seeped through his back. Would nothing quench this heat? Would he need to take a dip in the icy Seine to clear the feeling of her soft and pliant form from his mind? He must be getting old, he thought, to be losing control like this.

He didn't have long to wait as Nadir's footsteps sounded nearby. The man had such a distinct pattern of walking that Erik had learned long ago. Erik looked up in time to see Nadir round the corner of the alleyway.

Nadir paused. There was a shocked expression on his face and a tight wariness about his eyes. "Erik? Has something happened?" The old man took a cautious step closer.

Erik forced his face into a neutral, slightly bored expression. "Whatever do you mean?" he avoided.

Nadir dropped the sack he had been carrying at Erik's feet. "You're standing out in the cold in just your shirt."

Erik made a show of looking down at his white ruffled shirt. "Ah! So I am. I hardly noticed. The cold doesn't bother me much. Enough of this mundane conversation. Come inside, Daroga. I'm hungry." He ignored the man's questioning eyes and activated the mechanism that released the opening in the wall. He paused to grab the sack and hoisted it over his shoulder then picked the torch up from its sconce and led his guest down into the dark.

He scanned the cave and saw that Sophie was absent. She was no longer standing by the lake. He turned and saw that the curtain to the Louis Philippe room was down as well. Changing, then, he thought. Erik set the sack of supplies in the kitchen and ignored the ex police chief who seemed to be dogging his every step.

Nadir stepped into the kitchen behind him. "Something is different, Erik. I can feel it."

Erik opened the sack and pulled out their week's supplies. "Are you sure you're not just having gas?" he quipped.

Nadir huffed and grumbled somewhere behind him.

Erik ignored him.

The Daroga would not be ignored.

"Darius says that you've been sending him on the most incredible of errands lately," Nadir accused.

Erik stacked the tins of preserved foods in the cupboard and set a loaf of bread in a wooden box. "Darius should learn that servants are best when they are silent."

Nadir sniffed loudly. "My manservant is loyal to me first, Erik, as you well know. I loan him to you because of… circumstances and out of respect for our mutual history."

"Yes," Erik replied, "and you remind me of it nearly every chance you get. What of it, Daroga?" He set the meal's ingredients out and folded up the now empty sack.

"The flowers, Erik? I bought a book on floriography… it's been most… illuminating."

Erik turned and scowled at him fiercely, and he was pleased when the Daroga took a half step back. "My business is my own… and none of yours," he said scathingly at the old man.

Nadir's mouth drew down into a thin, sad line. "Erik.. I must ask… have you-"

"-Have I… what?" Erik interrupted. He turned to face the man directly. "Do you really think me such a monster that you think I'd harm her? Choose your next words carefully, old man."

"No," the man answered. "I do not think you'd harm her. But I worry that you have raised your hopes… and I worry what will happen to you if things do not go exactly as you wish. There is no more opera house left to burn down."

Erik's gaze turned stony and ice cold. "Worried that she won't learn to love this monster, you mean. Would it surprise you if I said that she is already halfway there?"

Nadir held firmly. "No, Erik. It would not. You can be as charming as you can be monstrous… and not in the ways that you imagine."

Erik snorted and some of the tension left the little kitchen.

Nadir continued before Erik could interrupt. "Could you ever really trust it, though? Would you ever truly believe it?"

"It would be enough," Erik lied. "I would make it be enough."

The old man looked at him with something akin to pity, "you'll never truly believe it unless you set her free. It will poison you slowly… until one day it is _not_ enough. You must let her go and see if she chooses to stay with you."

Erik's hand moved of its own volition towards his sleeve to reach for the punjab lasso, a familiar and comforting movement that was half reassurance and half habit, until he realized that he was standing in the kitchen with just his shirt and the jacket with its hidden interior sleeve pocket was hanging up on its peg on the wall. His hand fell impotently at his side.

Nadir left the room without another word.

Erik turned and slammed the cabinet door shut and clenched his fists on the edge of the countertop. His fingers dug into the cold, unfeeling marble. He ran a shaking hand through his wig and struggled to slow his ragged breathing. Closing his eyes he counted to one hundred until the red veil of rage had lifted and rational thought returned. Its crisp edges slammed into him like knives.

With even, calm hands he grabbed a vegetable and a knife from the block and started chopping. The knife sliced through and down onto the wooden cutting board with a pleasing thunk as it cleaved the pliable flesh into two. He lost himself in the chore until the voices that hounded him constantly quieted and he could think again.

Distractedly he chopped and stirred until the meal was done. He covered his portion and left it on the cooling stove, then scooped two meals onto china plates and brought it out to the dining room.

Sophie was sitting at the dining table with Nadir and the pair was chatting amicably. She paused mid sentence to grace him with a small smile, then continued what she was saying to the Daroga. Erik placed the dishes down in front of his companions then poured two healthy glasses of wine and sat down opposite of her.

He was quiet throughout the meal as he watched Sophie speak with Nadir between her bites of food. Everything she did was graceful in a way that just came naturally to some people. He wondered if she knew.

Her eyes locked on him as his mind registered that her last question had been directed to him. "What was that?" he asked. He was far too distracted tonight. He took a sip of wine and forced himself to concentrate on something other than the way her hazel eyes were flashing green in the candlelight.

" _Monsieur_ Khan was telling me about the time you spent together in Constantinople. I asked you where else you had traveled."

He took another sip of wine and thought a moment before he replied. "Nadir and I met in Russia. Before that I'd traveled through parts of Asia. I trained in masonry and architecture for a few years in Italy when I was younger. Except for the time that I spent in Mazandaran and Constantinople I didn't stay in one place for very long."

Sophie's eyes sparkled in the flickering candlelight. "I can't even imagine the things you must have seen. I've never even left Paris."

His gaze flickered away, "Indeed, there is much beauty out in the world. I have seen palaces and churches and theaters that would take your breath away with their grandiosity. I've seen wild beasts beyond your imagination, and seen the breadth of cultures that exist wholly in their own unique ways in all of the corners of the world. I have seen deserts with great stone pyramids, and temples that rise up from mountaintop jungles and try to touch the sky. Although I now know that sometimes we can find the most beautiful things right here at home."

Erik took pleasure in the pink tinge that washed over Sophie's face as he held her gaze.

Nadir's ill-timed cough broke the moment.

He looked down and noticed that their plates were empty. "What shall I play for us tonight, Sophie?"

She tapped a finger against the table and chewed her lip like she always did when she was deep in thought. "The Mozart one that makes me laugh," she said vaguely.

And he knew exactly which piece she meant.

Erik nodded and rose to find his violin. When he returned he found Sophie and the old Daroga waiting for him on the Sofa. He perched himself on the sofa arm nearest Sophie and set his bow to the violin's strings.

As he played he lost himself in the music as he always did. When the song was over several minutes later he opened his eyes to see Sophie staring at him with such a wondrous look on her face. Did she even know how beautiful she was when she looked at him like that?

Her eyes were crinkled at the corners and she smiled softly at him. Her melancholy of earlier was well and truly gone now. Without prompting he set the violin back to his chin and played some more.

Sophie and Nadir's conversation floated to him through his haze of music.

"Have you seen this opera, _Monsieur_ Khan?" she asked.

Nadir's reply was thoughtful, "I am not familiar with this song. Which opera is it, my dear?"

"Mozart's _The Marriage of Figaro_ ," she explained. "Erik has been telling me about all of the Operas that he has seen and read. This one is my new favorite. It's quite scandalous," she added with a laugh.

Erik dragged the bow along the violin's strings and let his gaze fall upon Sophie's profile. He watched her shamelessly as he played.

Sophie continued, "so in the opera there is this man named Figaro who loves this woman Susanna. And he nearly marries her, but on their wedding day Susanna confesses to him that the count, who they both work for, has been trying to _seduce_ her. They concoct a plan to dress the young page boy up in women's clothing, and send the boy to the count instead, to trick the count. And as if that isn't wicked enough, the count's wife is in on the deception the entire time. The countess wants to catch her husband in his faithlessness." She laughed deeply despite Nadir's shocked mutterings. "It's deliciously wicked, and I love it!" she exclaimed as she clapped her hands together in delight.

Erik lowered his gaze when Sophie turned her head to look at him again. His bow slid along the strings as he continued playing.

"When Erik plays it for me I swear that I can almost see the actors on the stage within my mind."

When he raised his eyes again he found himself staring deeply into her eyes. The green had faded back into the hazel, but he found them no less enchanting for it. The song was done and Erik pulled the violin from the crook of his neck.

His eyes followed Sophie as the old man reclaimed her attention.

Nadir grasped her by the hand and placed a chaste kiss on the back of one. "I bid you good evening, Sophie. And I am already looking forward to sharing your delightful company next Friday."

Her mouth dropped open slightly. "So soon?" she asked.

Nadir nodded. "I am an old man my dear and I feel my bed calling to me. I shall leave you two young people to enjoy the rest of your evening." He stood and gave her a little bow.

Erik set the violin down on the seat. "I'll walk you out," he said suddenly, surprising everyone in the room. He turned to Sophie who sat there staring at him. "I'll be back shortly."

She nodded silently then stared at the fire in the woodstove and chewed her lip.

Erik led Nadir from the room, stopping only a moment in the kitchen to grab the empty sack to bring it with them. He checked to ensure that Sophie wasn't looking and activated the control in the mirror. The glass pane swiveled open silently and they exited through the tunnel. The mirrored panel slid closed behind them. Erik picked up the lit torch that flickered in the narrow stairwell and they began their trek up the multitude of stairs.

Nadir was winded at the top and Erik just barely managed to conceal his own exertion. It really was an awful amount of stairs, he admitted. What a shame that the other easier paths had either been destroyed or flooded.

They stepped out into the empty alleyway and Erik let Nadir pass him.

The old man pulled his evening cape tighter around himself in the cold, then turned back around. "I see what you mean, Erik, and I am happy for you… truly. I hope that you will listen to the words of a sad, old man when he tells you that love can not grow if it is caged."

Erik held the man's gaze. "And if she leaves me like Christine?" he whispered.

Nadir sighed and craned his head to stare at the full moon that shone above them. "Then it was not meant to be."

Erik grew angry. "That is easy for you to say. But I have so few opportunities here in my dark, secluded hell."

Nadir looked at him and turned to face him fully in the alley. "You can not ignore a truth simply because it is unpleasant, Erik. That does not change it at all. It is like your face. You can mask it, but it still exists in its unchanged state beneath the porcelain. If you keep her as your prisoner then you will never fully trust her love. One day there will be some small slight, some inconsequential argument or seed of discord, and your doubts will set in and fester and destroy the both of you from the inside out."

Erik was the first to avert his gaze as he stared down at the grime coated bricks under his feet.

The old man continued, "May Allah, in his infinite grace and mercy, grant you your dreams, Erik… and the wisdom to do what you know in your heart is right." Nadir turned on his heels and left.

Erik watched the man turn a corner and then collapsed against the cold stones with a sob. He brought his knees up to his chest and pressed his masked face against his legs. His tears soaked through the fabric.


	16. Chapter 16

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 16

Sophie sat on the couch and stared at the flickering flames of the cast iron stove. She chewed her lip and wrung her hands. Why was her heart beating so fast? She'd been with Erik for more than six weeks now. She couldn't recall being this nervous since the first night that she had woken up in the swan bed and she'd seen him towering over her and her broken body. Her mouth felt dry and her stomach threatened to revolt.

The little Siamese cat had tried to jump into her lap, but Sophie could not force herself to be still. The cat had hissed once at her, then sulked away to groomed itself fiercely while glaring at Sophie with bright, golden eyes. It felt like eternity was passing as she waited on the sofa for Erik to return. She pulled the pocket watch from inside her dress and clicked it open. It was useless information, however, since she had not known what time he'd left. But the sound of the ticking and the consistent moving of the watch face's hands was comforting in its own way.

She watched as eleven minutes passed, and then a single set of footsteps sounded and echoed about the cavern. She knew better by now than to turn around and try to spot his entrance. He would simply wait, wherever it was that he stood, until she looked away. And then suddenly he would appear as if from thin air. It was completely unfair.

His footsteps sounded nearer and Sophie thought it was safe to turn now. She was shocked by his appearance. Erik had rarely appeared so unkempt. He looked as miserable now as she had been earlier down by the lake.

"What's wrong?" she asked as she stood up. He moved to take the violin from the sofa. She moved to intercept him and blocked his path. Her hand rose up and she pressed them firmly against his chest when he made to slide sideways away from her.

He closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. Sophie stared at him until he opened them again and he was looking back at her.

"Erik… tell me what's wrong," she pleaded.

One of his hands reached up to take one of her wayward curls up in his fingers. He brushed it back behind her ear and let his hand fall away from her cheek. She stared up at him, her eyes wide and worried. "Erik… please."

"I'm just melancholy tonight," he parroted her words from earlier. "I'm allowed to be sad sometimes."

Her words parroted back to her. It would be funny if he hadn't looked like his world was shattering beneath his feet. She gave him a small, reassuring smile, and she was surprised when he asked her to sit.

His hand reached out to gesture at the empty seat between them. "Let me see your leg, Sophie."

She placed it onto the seat and lifted her skirts a bit. His hands reached out to probe it. Her toes wiggled when it tickled.

"How does it feel?" he asked.

"Good," she replied. It was the truth. Her leg rarely bothered her now. Sophie found that she used the cane mostly from habit and could walk, carefully, without its support.

He stared at the cast longer than Sophie thought was necessary. "Are you ready to take it off?" he asked.

She looked at her leg and considered the idea, then nodded slowly.

He left her there on the couch as he disappeared into his studio. A few moments later he returned with a wooden mallet and a wicked looking curved, handled blade.

"What on Earth is that?" she blurted out with a tinge of fear in her voice.

He held the items aloft and peered at them thoughtfully. "In all truth... it's a pastry cutter… but I think it will serve this project nicely."

Sophie grabbed her skirts and settled them over her leg hiding it from his view. She shook her head. "You think? You don't know… you think? Nope." She shook her head, her hair bouncing wildly about her shoulders. "You're not hammering away at me with that wicked thing. You'll just have to find another way to get it off."

"What's the matter Sophie, are you afraid?" he goaded her.

She nodded. "Of that thing? Yes. Absolutely. It looks positively primeval."

He chuckled and sat in the empty space, then grabbed the bottom edge of her skirts and hiked them up her leg.

Sophie blushed at the implication, then startled when he placed the tool against the thickest part of the cast. She whimpered and bit her lip in anticipation.

"Hold still…" he commanded. His eyes flashed up to meet hers, "unless you want the leg amputated instead. That might be easier, actually," he joked sarcastically.

Sophie paled and grabbed a pillow and buried her face in it. Her voice was muffled as she spoke, "don't even joke like that… it's cruel."

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"No," she replied petulantly.

He struck the blow anyways without any warning. Sophie looked up from the pillow to assure herself that her leg was still in one piece and not bleeding. Her breath left her in a heaving sigh as he struck another blow with similar success.

It took him maybe ten or fifteen minutes of hammering and prying and pulling at its edges to have the cast eventually split into two halves. Once it was divided Erik dug his fingers into the crack and pried it wide so that she could pull her now healed leg from it.

The cool, damp air made her sensitive skin prickle in goosebumps, but her leg was otherwise completely boring looking. It had healed straight. She wiggled her toes and ankle slowly.

"No pain?" he asked.

"None at all," she replied. "It feels odd though… tingly… and it's a little smelly." She wrinkled her nose.

He smiled at her and set the tools aside. "That's easily fixed. Now, let's see if you can stand."

Erik rose and held a hand out to her and helped her to rise.

There was no pain. Her leg felt nice and strong beneath her. She smiled brightly up at him, then frowned when her smile wasn't returned.

"Erik… don't pretend that there's nothing bothering you. What is it?"

Sophie felt her eyes misting. The sight of him standing there looking so bereft and lost was simply too overwhelming. He looked as if the worst thing that could ever happen to a person had just occurred. "Please, don't shut me out," she pleaded.

Erik grasped both of her hands in his own and raised them up and pressed them against the sides of his face and mask. He held them there and cupped his own around her fingers as he took a shuddering breath. "I've been losing you ever since you arrived… I just didn't know it."

She was truly worried now. He wasn't making any sense. "Erik… what are you talking about?"

He peeled her hands away from his face and moved her a little roughly to the side and let her go, then picked the violin up from the sofa. His shoulders were slumped and he refused to look at her. "In a week or two when your leg is fully healed, Sophie, I will let you go."

She stood there dumbfounded and speechless. All she could do was stand there and stare at his back as he fled from her.

Sophie wobbled, although she could not have blamed it on her leg. It felt as if a rug had been pulled out from under her feet. She lowered herself slowly to the couch and replayed their interaction in his head. She wondered, just for a moment, if she had misheard him, or imagined it. Her stomach twisted itself into knots and her hand gripped the sofa's arm too tight.

He'd saved her and kept her captive… and he had promised to release her.

The weight of his words settled on her like dread and Sophie sat there staring into space and wondered suddenly why she was crying.


	17. Chapter 17

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 17

Sophie awoke and hastened to secure the green wrapper over her chemise. The cave was less chilly now, but she still needed it for modesty. She opened her golden pocket watch and checked the date and time.

Thursday, March thirtieth. Twelve minutes after nine in the morning.

It had been nearly one week since that dinner with Nadir when Erik had thrown about statements like _you've always been leaving me,_ and her less favorite _I'll let you go_ , and then he'd cowardly run away and was now hiding in some dark corner of the cavern from her. He'd avoided her ever since, as if she was riddled with a plague.

Sophie was cross with him. And when she wasn't cross with him she found herself crying inconsolably. Why was it that when he said he was letting her go, it felt like he was abandoning her? And moreso, she should be happy to return to her family and her life, yet she was not. It was what she'd begged him for countless times. So why did her heart feel like it was breaking?

She buttoned the wrapper closed and rubbed the tear track stains harshly from her face. Her hand reached out and found her cane, although she rarely ever needed it now. She carried it more for its comforting familiarity. And because he'd made it for her. Her fingers absently traced the rose motif carved underneath its rounded handle. She remembered her delight when she'd found it in her bed one day. She also remembered the smell of sawdust that had covered him as he slept on a couch that was too short for his tall, lanky frame. He'd carved it for her. And now she was using it to leave him. The irony made her feel like screaming.

She ran a hand through her wild, tangled hair and pulled it away from her face. She pulled the cord that opened the curtain and stepped out into the main cavern. The damp air made her leg ache a little. No matter how many layers of fabric she wore her leg always felt strangely naked and far too light without its plaster coated wraps.

The cavern was empty. He was still sulking and hiding from her even now. There were no more bouquets of flowers with sweet, tender meanings in the vase on the dining table.

Sophie went about her morning ritual and when she checked the time and saw that an hour had passed without seeing either hide or hair of Erik she decided to find a book to read to pass the lonely hours. She leaned her cane against the wall and made her way over to the stack of books that made up Erik's informal library.

Her finger trailed the spines of the books until she found a thick tome that she had never really looked at before. _Le Morte d'Arthur_ it read in scrolling calligraphy on its painted leather spine. How perfectly dreary sounding. It fit her current mood perfectly.

She shifted the pile of books and took it carefully from the stack. But the book was strangely difficult to open. She pulled at the cover and lifted half the pages with it. In her perplexion she tilted the book to look at the spine again and a little brass key fell out from the hidden cavity that had been carved out of the pages of the book. The key fell to the her feet with a _clink_ on the stone floor. She stared at it and a great big laugh burst from somewhere deep within her followed by a sob. Bending down, she picked it up and fingered its complex set of teeth. It was plainer than she'd thought it would be. Of course it was her luck to have found the key when she no longer had a need for it.

She picked the key up and placed it back where she had found it, then buried the wretched book back into the stack. Her hand settled on the book of Greek myths that she'd started weeks ago but never finished. Sophie grabbed it and headed to her favorite spot beside the lake.

She was halfway through the story of Orpheus and Eurydice when she heard his approach. She looked up to see Erik walking towards her. Her hand reached out and closed the book when she noticed that he was carrying something. She hadn't been all that interested in the story anyways. Orpheus seemed rather foolish to her. Didn't he know that people's nature couldn't be changed simply because they willed it? That love couldn't be forced?

As Erik came closer she saw that he had one of his metal automatons in his hands. It was smaller than the tree, but only by a little. He approached her warily and sighed in what sounded like relief when she patted the empty space on the shore beside her.

Erik sat beside her on the rocky shore and cradled his creation in his lap. He seemed nervous.

"What's this?" Sophie asked him. "A new project?"

"One that I've been working on for some time. I needed to finish it… sooner than I'd thought."

Her mind raced. "That's why you've been so secluded this past week…" she thought out loud. She looked at it closely then. It was a gilded brass birdcage. Its open metal framework housed a delicate brown sparrow on a perch inside the middle of the cage.

"What does this one do?" she asked.

He handed it to her.

Sophie took it from him carefully and cradled it gently in her lap. She felt around its base until her fingers found the key. She wound it five times until the key wouldn't turn anymore, then watched it as its song played out.

It played a familiar tune that she'd heard somewhere before. It took Sophie a moment to place it until she remembered that he'd been working on a piece on the pipe organ a few weeks ago. She thought he'd simply never finished it and had instead moved on to other works. He played so many different songs that it was difficult to keep track of them all.

As the notes poured forth the bird's beak opened and closed rhythmically, as if it was singing, and its wings flapped up and down gently, as if it was going to fly away at any moment. Her breath hitched when the rhythm of the song changed and sprigs of delicate blue flowers bloomed up around the perch.

The tiny blue flowers were unmistakeable. "Forget me nots…" she mumbled.

"Eternal love," he replied sadly. "Although in retrospect I should have added a door to the cage so that the little bird could fly away. Still… I'm rather pleased with how it turned out."

She tried to fight back the tide of tears and failed. The song ended and the flowers returned to somewhere within the base. Sophie turned to meet his eyes and noticed that his expression shifted when her lower lip quivered.

"I thought that you were avoiding me," she admitted. She bit her lower lip to stop its quivering.

Erik looked at her strangely. "Never, Sophie. I wouldn't spend our last days together hiding from you. Quite the opposite, really. I want to soak you up... the way you walk... the way you tuck your hair behind your ears, or laugh when you think that something's funny... So that I don't forget you once you're gone."

"It doesn't have to be forever," she offered mournfully. "I'd like us to always be friends." It sounded lame to her even as she said it.

He stared at her. "I want us to be more than that, Sophie." His voice was breathy and strained.

She closed her eyes and felt a tear slipping from the corner of her eye. "I know…" She took a steadying breath. "I can't abandon my family, Erik. They need me to survive."

"I know…" he replied. He shrugged, as if there was nothing more to say.

She stared at him and hated herself for the tears that rolled gently down her cheeks. They were unstoppable in their path and they dripped down onto her hands as they cradled the bird cage. "Come with me," she gave into her weakness and begged.

His eyes widened in shock before his face fell. "And what? You will introduce me to your family? We will court properly? I will ask your stepfather for your hand in marriage?"

She brushed away the tears with the back of her hand. "Don't mock me," she commanded with an edge to her voice. "Not while I'm pouring my heart out to you."

"Forgive me," he pleaded. "But I fail to see how that would work. You can not stay… and I can not go with you. I don't belong in your world. I don't belong anywhere."

"You could," she argued, "I'll help you carve a place."

"Would you leave Paris, then?" he asked. The tone of his voice said that he knew the answer already.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and looked down at the birdcage in her lap.

"I thought not. And how do you think your neighbors would react? Or your family for that matter?" he questioned. His voice was barely above a whisper.

He threw his voice about the cave and pitched it differently than his own.

 _I say that masked fellow is rather frightening, don't you think?_

 _Say, doesn't he look like that phantom fellow who kidnapped Christine Daae and burned down that opera house?_

 _What on Earth is good little Sophie doing with that murderous, masked fiend?_

The voices bounced off of the water and echoed in the cave until they faded.

"There's no need to be cruel, Erik," she argued. And the note of buried anger in her voice surprised her.

He spread his hands between them and sighed. "I would not be the one who treated you cruelly if you were mine. But the cruelty will follow me. It always has. I was foolish to hope that it could be different this time."

Sophie refused to look at him. Instead she stared longingly at the birdcage in her lap.

"Shall I show you my face, then? That would get you running quickly and without a backwards glance."

Sophie felt a stillness settle within her. Her tears stopped. With calm movements she set the birdcage aside and turned on the pebbled shore to face him. She shifted herself up onto her knees and tucked them under her so that she was kneeling now, instead of sitting. "Alright, then," she stated matter of factly as she met his startled eyes.

His eyes widened until the whites showed all around like a wild animal. "No… no Sophie. Not that. Don't leave me that way… please…"

She stared at him with a look of calm understanding. "That's not the first time that you've made that threat, Erik. I am so very tired of you threatening me with your face as if it is a weapon. Let's see it then." She balled her hands into the skirts of her dress and stared at him patiently. Her face hardened into a mask of impassivity.

He shook his head desperately. "No… Sophie. You do not really wish to see it," he moaned.

She scoffed and let the anger flash in her eyes. "You have no faith in me. You think that seeing your face would change my opinion of you? You think that it defines you? It defines you because you let it. I'm sorry that your mother was never able to look upon it and see through it to your soul. I can't go back and change that hurt. I'm sorry that Christine abandoned you here. But I wouldn't change her actions even if I could. Maybe that's selfish of me. So be it. Because it led you to me. And I'd have died if you hadn't saved me from those men. But I am horribly, and deeply offended that you think so little of me now."

He moaned and clutched a fist against his chest as if her words had been a knife that cut him down to the quick.

"Or perhaps you think I'm stupid, then? That I assume that your face is whole and unblemished underneath the mask? I'm not a child, Erik. I am not foolish enough to believe that. Do you really that my feelings for you are so inconstant? I am in love with you, you stupid man."

He hung his head and Sophie waited patiently for him to decide.

Her heart pounded wildly when his hands reached up to find the wire that held the white half mask in place. His fingers caught the latch and he pulled the mask away slowly. His head remained tilted downward as Sophie took in the taut but sagging flesh. It was reddened where the mask's edges rubbed and sallow in between from lack of sunlight. The side of his nose was ill formed and the skin of his cheek was puckered and strangely textured. The shadow of a depression at his temple hinted that there was more to it than she could see but the edge of his hair covered that.

Sophie regarded it all silently as he sat before her. Her heartbeat slowed to normal and a sad smile ghosted at her lips. He was still Erik underneath. Her Erik. The man who had saved her life and had crafted something beautiful out of scrap metal and bits and pieces that others might have thrown away. The man who'd taught her about opera, and how to skip a stone. The man whose soul was made of music.

She leaned forward and placed a tender kiss against his unblemished cheek. He sobbed when she tilted her head and placed another gentle kiss upon the carnage that was the right side of his face.

Erik tilted his head back and looked at her squarely then. His hands rose to cup her face tenderly. She smiled even as tears rolled down her face. And then she leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss against his mouth.

He was tense at first, and then he mellowed under her lips. One of his hands moved to fist itself into her wild hair by the nape of her neck. Sophie opened her mouth to let him in deeper and moaned when his tongue darted forward timidly. His other arm moved down and he grabbed her by her waist. He pressed her to him hungrily as she shifted her balance and leaned forward into his embrace. The mask lay discarded somewhere at their feet as Erik kissed her senseless.

His arms strengthened and he pulled her to him desperately. She crawled forward that last inch of space and hiked her skirts up high onto her legs as he pulled her into his lap. Her tongue joined his in mutual exploration as their mouths melded together. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him in place tightly as his mouth tried to devour hers.

Sophie was surprised when the hand that was fisted tightly in her hair tilted her head more to one side. The change in angle let his tongue probe even deeper. She hadn't known that a kiss could get any deeper. He proved her very, very wrong. He kissed her until she was breathless and dizzy.

She pulled back from him slowly and placed tiny kisses at the corners of his mouth, then stared deeply into his eyes. Her hands pulled back to cup the sides of his face as she leaned back.

"We will find a way," she declared convincingly and with more certainty than she actually felt.

Eric let his hands drop down to grasp her firmly by her hips. "Alright," he acquiesced.

Sophie smiled warmly, then leaned forward for another kiss.


	18. Chapter 18

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 18

Erik stared deeply into Sophie's eyes as she straddled his lap on the lakeside shore. His hands grasped her tightly by her hips as she gently cupped his face. The pad of her thumb was running lightly along the line of his jaw.

She'd told him that they would find a way to be together. And in that moment where anything seemed possible, he believed her. His fierce little sparrow. She'd survived so much grief and she had blossomed through it like a flower growing out of the ashy barren wasteland of the aftermath of a volcanic eruption. She had looked upon his face and smiled and kissed him. Anything seemed possible now. He would make it so. All she had to do was ask. She could have asked him for a seaside palace in that moment and he'd have carved the marble blocks from the Earth itself and built it for her.

Sophie smiled shyly at him and he felt his breath hitch in his throat. He leaned forward and buried his face into her neck and wrapped his arms around her to hold her to him tightly. It felt as if she'd float away if he didn't, like waking from a pleasant dream to find the world hadn't really changed at all.

Her arms wrapped themselves around his neck and her fingers ran up and down the sensitive skin of his nape. He shivered and felt the changes in his body. The hairs on his arms raised and he felt his love for her, his amazement at her acceptance of him, as it changed into something more carnal. His body's reaction to holding her soft and pliant curves against him would soon be evident.

 _No_ , he thought. _Not like this_.

He stood and brought her with him and smirked at her tiny shriek. She giggled as he carried her up the stairs The sounds was music in his mind. Brilliant songs began to swell in his mind. He forced them back. That was for another day. He deposited her safely on the sofa.

Erik left her there and retreated into the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" she called out after him.

"I'm going to make us some tea," he replied as he tried to wrestle his body for control. He focused on his breathing and on the familiar task of filling the samovar with tea leaves and water and setting it to a boil on the stove.

Once the Persian teapot was in place and being heated he ran down to the lakeside shore and retrieved his mask. He fitted it back into place with practiced ease. The wire hooked over his ears and fell into position behind his head. He regained his sense of self control and felt the passion receding. His mind filled with ideas and thoughts which swirled and clashed together. He considered their options and discarded a few. It would take careful maneuvering.

"But I don't want tea," she argued petulantly from the couch.

He chuckled. "We have plans to make, Sophie. Planning calls for tea."

Erik returned to the kitchen and found the Samovar steaming. He pulled two tea cups and saucers down from the stack of dishes. Sophie grumbled from the direction of the sitting room. He smiled and focused on the task before him. He spooned two cubes of sugar into hers and poured the rich brown tea into their cups. He carried them over to her carefully.

"I know you're right," she admitted, "but it's much less enjoyable than kissing you."

He handed her the cup of sweetened tea and nodded his head at her murmur of thanks then sat beside her.

"It will not be easy," he warned her gravely.

Her pink lips pursed as she blew on the contents in her cup. She took a sip of tea and nodded, unperturbed.

 _She has so much faith in me_ , he pondered. The idea was astonishing. "Are you truly against leaving Paris?" he asked calmly.

Sophie set her teacup down, "Erik… you know that I won't leave my family."

He nodded absently. "Yes… but are the ideas mutually exclusive? You said yourself that you longed to see the world beyond Paris."

She stared at her hands in her lap and chewed her lip as she so often did when she was conflicted or thoughtful. "I… I wouldn't even know how to begin to leave. It's all I've ever known. But there is nothing that truly ties me here except my mother and Emma."

His pulse quickened. "I have an idea, Sophie. Would you trust me to make the arrangements?"

She met his gaze and nodded. "What plans are these?" Her hand reached out to grasp his free one. Their fingers intertwined.

Erik set his cup of tea aside and laid his hand over their entwined fingers.

"I would ask you to trust me on this matter, Sophie. The plan is in its early stages and fragile. I would not wish to disappoint you if it did not come together as I intend it to," he cautioned.

His breath hitched in wonder as she smiled up at him before leaning forward to place a tiny kiss against the corner of his mouth.

"Alright," she whispered with her coy mouth.

He turned his head and pulled her back to him, then kissed her properly.

Erik stared at Sophie while she slept. They were both curled up together on the too small couch after talking for hours. They'd settled into a half reclined position and Sophie had lain her head on his chest while he stroked her long hair.

His long legs dangle off the edge of the sofa as he ran his free hand up the length of her back while she laid half on top of him on the couch. He traced lazy swirls along her back and smiled when she sighed and stretched against him and buried her face deeper into the crook of his neck. She had no idea how beautiful she was when she slept. He reached up and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear, then let his fingers trail a tender path along her cheek. She had no idea how amazing she was for letting him love her.

There was not much in the world that could have driven him from her side. Except for this particular plan. The idea had come to him quite suddenly and he had been struck by its perfection. He relished the delight that it would bring her, the way that she would look at him. It would require careful planning and perfect timing.

Erik dug out his own pocket watch. He clicked it open and noted the time. There were a few minutes left before he needed to leave. He used that time to memorize the lines of her face, the gentle slope of her rosy cheeks, the half moon of dark lashes that fanned out across her cheek in her slumber, and the shape of her rosebud mouth. The lips that had kissed him without fear or loathing parted slightly in her sleep. A wave of fierce protectiveness washed over him in that moment.

Erik would have given her the world. The woman who had looked past his sins, his face, his terrible history and who had seen the little boy inside who longed for companionship, friendship, and love. He'd have given her anything and everything she'd desired.

He pulled his gaze away from her to look at the pocket watch again. It was time.

Erik stealthily extricate himself from the Sophie. He set a pillow under her head and pulled the blanket from the back of the sofa then settled it gently over her. He tucked another wayward curl away from her face and let his thumb faintly brush the curve of her brow. She smiled softly and sighed in her sleep and settled into the warm spot that they'd created as they'd lain together on the sofa and talked about their future deep into the night.

Ayesha jumped up from somewhere under the sofa and curled herself into the now free spot on the cushion. No doubt that she was seeking out the residual spot of warmth. The cat blinked lazy eyes up at him. Erik nodded at her and left the cat to her silent vigil. With quiet steps he crossed the cavern and swapped out his white half mask for the black domino. He took up his coat and hat from their pegs on the wall.

He paused at a nondescript alcove in the wall and swung one of the smaller mounted gilded mirror open on hidden hinges. From its depths he pulled a stack of banknotes and papers, then he shut the cover to the safe. He slid the letters and stacks of money into an interior pocket of his jacket, then donned his thick wool cape. And as he depressed the hidden mechanism of the stairwell he cast one last look of longing at Sophie's sleeping form before he climbed up into the chilly Parisian night.

It was not such a long walk to the Persian's home on the Rue de Rivoli.

The Daroga lived on the third floor of a nondescript building. Erik rapped his knuckles forcefully against the door. He waited a while, then knocked again when there was still no answer. It was quite late and he was not expected.

Eventually the door opened and Darius' confused and sleepy face peered through the crack of the door. The man rubbed his eyes and blinked in their half-asleep state up at Erik.

"Wake your master," Erik commanded forcefully.

The man-servant's eyes widened and then he bowed and let the door swing wide and backed up against the wall, his gaze averted.

Erik strode through the doorway and pulled the door shut beside him. He watched as Darius backed out of the room and disappeared into the hallway. The Persian manservant was ever so respectful.

Erik didn't have long to wait. Nadir was stumbling out into the hall in his nightclothes just a few moments later. The old Daroga eyed Erik up and down and seemed nonplussed by what he observed.

"Really, Erik, what is the meaning of this? What could not wait until a more reasonable hour?" Nadir grumbled sleepily.

"I have need of your… assistance," Erik admitted.

"At two in the morning?" Nadir complained. The old man looked at him then and a spark of the police chief returned into his eyes. "Oh, Allah help us all. Something has happened with Sophie, then," the man inferred.

"I have taken your advice," Erik confessed.

Nadir sighed and ran a hand roughly over his face and appeared as if he was collecting himself. "My advice regarding Sophie?" he supplied.

Erik nodded.

"Oh, Allah help us, indeed. Well…" Nadir began slowly, "let's go into the parlor and discuss it then." Nadir led him into another room and turned a key on the gas lamp in the wall. It's dim glow brightened.

Erik followed him into the parlor.


	19. Chapter 19

_Warning: From here on out the M rating is in full effect._

 **Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 19

Sophie awakened and found herself in her familiar swan bed. She had no memory of the transfer, but she was not alarmed. Her pocket watch opened with a click as she checked the time. It was nearly noon. She had managed to sleep the entire morning away. She rose and reached for the familiar green wrapper, but then her hand paused. She left it on the chair. Instead she padded over to the vanity and picked up her ivory hair brush.

She sat on the stool and ran its bristles through her hair and worked out the knots. Her eyes studied her reflection in the mirror, then darted to the pot of rouge. Her hand reached out for it and pulled the top off of the pot. She stared into its contents before she lost her nerve and set the jar aside untouched.

Notes of music filtered through the cave. It sounded beautiful and sweet and soft to her ears. She found herself smiling in reflex. Reaching up to smooth her hair she let her auburn waves fall gently around her shoulders.

The notes grew louder as she passed the curtain divider and entered the main living quarters of the cavern home. Erik was sitting at the pipe organ. She walked the short steps up the raised dais and joined him on the bench.

Sophie watched him shamelessly as he played. He was always so absorbed in his music when it took him like this. She waited patiently until his song had finished.

His amber eyes flicked over to her then dropped to see her state of undress. He stared at her a moment before his eyes returned to the pipe organ and his sheets of hastily scrawled music. _Ever the gentleman_ , she thought playfully.

"I have an evening planned for us," he interjected into the silence.

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "Oh?"

"One last hurrah, as it is, before you return to your family," he stated plainly.

Sophie let her fingers trail along the edge of the ivory keys. "Hmm…"

He reached out and grabbed one of her hands and raised it to his mouth. She smiled at him as he placed a tiny kiss upon the back of it.

"What will we be doing?" she asked.

"Where will we be going would be a more apt question," he replied.

Her eyebrows rose again in surprise and anticipation. Her mouth curved into a grin. She leaned forward and placed a kiss against his cheek.

"You should rest today. We will be out quite late," he reasoned.

She laid her hand upon his shoulder and squeezed it as she rose from the pipe organ's stool. "What time should I be ready, then?" she asked.

"By ten tonight," he answered her.

Sophie looked at him in curious wonder, then laughed and leaned forward and placed a quick kiss against his mouth.

"Alright," she replied.

As she made to leave the raised dais he called out after her. "Be sure to wear your darkest gown," he commanded.

She nodded her head absently in her reply as she made her way back to her bed.

Sophie pulled on a pair of stockings and secured them to her garter, then donned her pantalets and tied them tightly around her waist. Next she pulled her old, worn leather boots on and used the button hook to close the straps about her feet. It was the first time that she'd worn shoes in the nearly two months that she'd been belowground and the once familiar feeling felt quite strange now. She laced herself into her corset and stepped into her petticoat. Her pocket watch was tucked safely into the bodice of the gown. The dress was next. She pulled the dark indigo dress over her head and buttoned it closed.

With quick hands she braided her hair and tucked it into a knot at the nape of her neck. She looked at herself in the mirror and felt a sense of accomplishment and wonder. She looked like one of those beautiful ladies who dined at cafes and drank champagne and laughed till midnight. Her hands reached down to smooth a wrinkle from the skirt of the dress.

"Sophie, are you ready?" Erik's voice called through the curtain.

"Yes, I am," she replied. She turned and watched as his hand parted the curtain and he held it open for her. She walked over to join him as he held a bundle of black cloth out towards her.

"Yours was ruined," he explained.

"Thank you," she murmured as she unfolded the thick black wool cloak and smiled brightly at him. It settled around her shoulders and fell to her ankle as she hooked it closed at her throat.

Erik reached out to her and pulled the cloak's hood up onto her hair.

She studied him then. All traces of white were gone. He was dressed in black on black again. Even his white half mask had been replaced with a black one that she had never seen him wear before.

She wondered where they were going that they needed to dress in shadows.

"Ready?" he asked.

Her reply was her nod and eager smile.

Erik took her hand and led her through the cavern. He paused to pick up her cane from where it leaned against a wall and he handed it to her.

"Will I need this?" she questioned him.

"The stairs are very narrow. I will not be able to carry you up them. You may need the support. It is a long climb, I'm afraid," he explained.

She took the cane from him and watched him as he guided her to one of the larger gilded mirrors that lined the wall.

"Look here. It is the third mirror in the row from the right. This is the mechanism that opens the passage," he advised her.

Sophie watched as his slim finger pressed into a crevice in the mirror's scrollwork border. She was utterly surprised when the mirror swiveled on a pin silently and revealed a set of narrow stairs that appeared to be endless in the dark.

He leaned forward to retrieve a rag wrapped torch from an iron sconce inside the passage way's walls. Erik left her for a moment as he brought it to the sitting room's wood fire stove. He held it to the flames and pulled it away once it had caught.

She took the opportunity to walk a step into the staircase. The air was fresh and chilly here. How had she never felt it seeping around the edges of the mirror? Ingenious. She looked up to find the staircase's ending but they went up and up and up and still there was no apparent end to them.

Erik rejoined her and motioned for her to begin their climb. She carried the cane in the crook of her arm and lifted the edge of her skirts and began the climb. The glow from the torch cast shadows on the walls and lit their little path.

Her skirts brushed against the walls as they passed and she was grateful for the dark color of the gown and the protection of the cloak. She was sure that her hem would be absolutely filthy at the end of this torturous ascent. They climbed and climbed until her breathing was labored and her thighs were sore. She set the tip of the cane down and leaned upon it for support and still they climbed.

At one point she paused and put a hand against her aching ribs.

"Oh dear lord does it ever end?" she whined in between pants.

"How is your leg?" he asked worriedly.

She took another step and groaned. "It's fine. But the rest of me is about two seconds away from dying."

He chuckled.

"How on Earth did you ever get me down here in the first place?" she asked with a note of wonder in her voice.

"I carried you, of course. Down is one matter. Up is another… even though you are light," he informed her.

She took another step and grumbled. "The petticoats were a mistake," she complained.

Erik's hand reached out and set itself against the small of her back to steady her when she wobbled.

"Perhaps this was too soon. We should turn around," he offered. "It is a difficult climb even when you are in the best of health. That was the intent of the design when I made it since the path is so direct."

Sophie shook her head then realized that he probably could not have seen the small movement in the dim light.

"No, it's alright," she panted, "I'll be fine. But you're going to have to listen to me complain the entire way."

He chuckled and the sound bounced and echoed around them.

They climbed even further still until at last the ending of the stairs was visible. They made the last step and stood upon the flat surface of the street-side entrance. Erik pressed forward against her and placed the torch into an iron sconce. It was the twin of the one at the base of the stairs. She leaned against the wall and panted until her breathing eased.

"The mechanism is in the brickwork here," he told her as he pointed it out.

Sophie pressed her finger into the depression and felt a piece of cool metal. She pressed it and watched in wonder as the stone wall before her cracked open.

Erik reached forward and pushed the heavy stone door open.

A cool breeze blew through as Sophie and Erik stepped out into the empty alley. She pulled the hood of her cloak up against the chill. It might be early Spring now, but Paris was still crisp at night in the absence of the sun's warm rays.

He grasped the heavy door and closed it behind them.

Sophie grinned as she watched it melt seamlessly into the rest of the wall.

"See this bit here?" he asked her as he pointed to a pebble that was embedded in the grout between two pieces of jagged stone that looked as if the giant piece had been accidentally cracked and then repaired.

"Is that what opens it from this side?" she guessed. "How clever."

Erik nodded and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a half-smile. He pulled the hood of his cloak up onto his head so that it cast a shadow over his face. Then he took up her arm and together they walked around the corner.

Sophie was surprised to see a black carriage waiting for them in the streets. The large white horse that was tethered to it stood patiently and greeted Erik with a whicker when they approached.

"Caesar," he explained.

Sophie let the horse snuffle at her hand in greeting before she ran it down his face and pet his whiskered velvet nose.

"He's beautiful," she whispered.

The horse flicked his ears in pleased response.

Erik opened the carriage door and motioned for her to enter it.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Not far, however I thought that you might wish to be spared the walk after the ordeal of the staircase," he said as he motioned for her to step inside.

Sophie reached forward and grasped the front of her skirts and hiked them up so that she could climb into the carriage with his help. He handed her the cane, then shut the door.

She felt the carriage shift as his weight settled on it from above. And then with the snapping of the reins they were moving down the streets of Paris. The carriage turned down a winding path. The horse's hooves clip clopped on the cobblestone and the sound echoed through the quiet, empty streets.

When the carriage rolled to a gentle stop Sophie peered through the curtained window but the streets were dark here. The carriage shifted and then a moment later the door opened and Erik was helping her down.

Sophie looked up at the multi story building before her.

"The louvre?" she questioned.

"Our destination _mademoiselle,"_ he said as he bowed formally and extended his arm.

She reached out and laced her arm with his and smiled widely as he pulled her around a corner in the back.

He reached his other hand out to turn a knob and push open a door and to Sophie's surprise it opened.

"How did you…" she asked, amazed.

"Come, quietly," he urged her as he led her inside the dark building.

Once inside the now empty Louvre her eyes adjusted to the dark. There were oil lamps positioned in bare corners throughout the building which cast a soft, amber glow around the paintings.

Erik took her hand and led her down a winding path. He seemed to know where they were headed.

He led her through one hall after another until they entered another wing. Statuary busts and renaissance portraits gave way to glass cases full of pots and various small artifacts.

"Where are we going?" she whispered as she looked around the room.

He turned his head to glance back at her. "To Egypt, of course."

They turned through one final hallway and spilled out into a large foyer. Giant carved stone columns soared up towards the ceiling. They passed by a row of statues of Egyptian kings and queens sitting on their thrones, their features carved into an eternal mask of impassivity. Sophie glanced from one direction to another as they passed by display cases of pots and jars and smaller stone carvings. Her mouth dropped open as they neared a large stone statue of a lion with a man's face.

"The sphinx," Erik said softly.

"I've never seen such a thing," Sophie whispered as they walked around it. She looked at the curious markings carved into the lion's chest.

"What are those carvings there?" she asked.

"Their language. They're called hieroglyphics," he explained as he gestured to where the carvings could be seen on the creature's chest and all around the base.

"This is a much smaller replica of the one that sits outside of Giza," he added.

"What happened to its nose?" she wondered.

"Blown off by Napoleon's men as target practice," he answered her.

Sophie tsked, "what a tragedy."

"Come," he gestured, "let's see the sarcophagi."

Erik led her through an arched doorway. The next room was dark and intimate. Even its walls were decorated with beautiful, gleaming gold leaf edged stonework. There were murals painted on the trim and ceiling but it was too dark for her to make out the details. They passed rows of glass covered statues and carvings, then turned down two more hallways until they reached a dark, earthen room.

In this room there were sarcophagi on display. She'd never seen such a thing before. Instead of plain wood caskets they were painted and highly decorated. One was even made out of gold. Some were laid out on the floor behind velvet ropes, others were posed standing up against the wall, their lids cracked open to show their decorated, painted insides. Paintings on the walls depicted great dunes of sand and towering stone pyramids.

Sophie gasped and hugged Erik's arm tighter when she was that there was even a set of mummified remains on display. It was wrapped in strips of linen cloth from head to toe and where its arms crossed over its chest there was a brightly painted shield. Next to the remains there was a death's mask that had been painted to resemble the unfortunate soul whose body was now on display.

She stared into the painted eyes of the mummy's mask and felt sorrow for the young anonymous woman who had lived and then died so very long ago.

"Why did they do such a thing to their people?" she asked him curiously.

"They believed that there was no afterlife without a body. So they attempted to preserve the remains at all cost. They were quite good at it, actually," he replied.

She tilted her head and considered the long dead Egyptian woman before her.

"Come," he beckoned, "we go to ancient Greece next."

Sophie smiled as he led her away from the Egyptian rooms and through the maze that was the unoccupied Louvre. They took a circuitous route that seemed nonsensical to Sophie at times. She was certain that once or twice they had even backtracked. But the Louvre was a giant maze of a museum and there were so many statues and paintings so perhaps she was wrong. A little while later the hallways and rooms of paintings gave way to fresco murals and marble statues of people wearing long flowing robes, or drapings of loose fabric, or simply nothing at all. Sophie blushed at the white, stone nudity.

They made their way around a corner where a grand marble staircase led the way up to the figure of a winged woman poised in pre-flight. The statue stood atop a stack of stone slabs as if it had been carved from them. It captured all of Sophie's attention. There was so much detail to the figure that it was an incredible sight to behold. The way that the fabric folded and draped around the woman's form, the texture of her feathered wings, and the way that she appeared as if she would fly off in just a moment. It was such a pity that the statue had been broken. The winged woman had no head at all. Sophie idly wondered what her face had looked like.

Erik pulled her gently up the staircase and into the next room of antiquities.

They paused to observe a larger sculpture of a pair of lovers. A pair of wings grew from the man's back as he crouched over his female companion.

"Psyche's revival by Cupid, a Roman myth actually," Erik spoke softly. "Have you heard of it?" he asked her.

"Tell it to me," she bade him.

Erik moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

Sophie sighed and settled in against him.

In gentle whispers against her ear he began to weave the story.

"A king and queen bore three very beautiful daughters, which incurred the wrath of the often jealous Venus. Venus commanded her son Cupid to shoot the most beautiful of the daughters with an arrow. His arrows, you see, had the power to make someone fall instantly in love with the first thing that they saw. Venus' plan was to make Psyche fall in love with a hideous monster. But cupid accidentally nicked himself in the process and fell in love with Psyche instead."

Sophie laughed softly as Erik's hand tightened around her middle. She let her fingers trail in circles along the exposed skin of his wrists.

He began to speak again, "the King discovered that his family was cursed by the gods and he sought out a prophetess. This oracle told him that Psyche's fate was to be devoured by a giant beast. Her parents, seeking to supplicate the gods, chained her to a cliff-"

"-Those are some really terrible parents," she interrupted.

Erik shushed her and continued, "but instead of meeting her death there, she was carried away by a great wind to a beautiful palace where cupid visited her bed in the secret cover in darkness."

Sophie blushed in the dark. "Oh?" she murmured softly as her fingers found the sensitive flesh of the inside of his wrist.

Erik's breath was warm in her ear as he leaned his face down to hers and whispered the story to her. "He hid her away, against his mother's will, and made her his bride."

His breath tickled the hairs at the nape of her neck and sent a delicious shiver down her spine. Sophie let her eyes trail over the carved marble statue before them. Her eyes roamed over it and noted the way that Psyche reached up for her lover, the way that Cupid bowed over her, their naked forms just a moment away from meeting in a lover's embrace as winged Cupid reaches out to grasp her around her naked torso. An intimate moment, frozen in time. It was both scandalous, and electrifying.

Erik's hands hands were moving then as his fingers roamed across her ribcage. He brushed against the underside of her breasts and Sophie felt her nipples harden in response. Her mouth parted as her breathing quickened at his tentative touch.

Erik ignored her response and let his hands wander over her torso as he continued the story.

"Psyche's two sisters, upon learning of her good fortune and visiting her, began to fill her head with ideas that Psyche's night time lover must have been the great beast who would devour her as was foretold by the oracle," he added.

"How cruel of them," she muttered distractedly as Erik placed a kiss against the sensitive skin of her neck.

Sophie sighed and arched her head back to give him greater access to her neck. His kisses left a trail of gooseflesh in its wake. She felt the dampness growing between her legs as she reached down and found his hand and dragged it north until he was grasping her breast through the layers of her clothing.

He added to the story without any sign of distraction as he explored her body.

"That night Psyche brought an oil lamp and a dagger to her bed. She had intended to kill the beast, and thus escape her fate. And when Cupid fell asleep after making love to her Psyche lit the lamp and gazed upon him and saw that he was beautiful."

His thumb brushed against her taut nipple and Sophie felt her breath hitch as he rolled his fingers over the sensitive bundle of nerves through the layers of her clothing.

She reached a free hand back to grasp the nape of his neck and teased the sensitive strip of skin where his earlobe met his neck. She grinned in the dark as she noticed the change in his breathing. _He is not so immune then,_ she thought. _Turnabout is fair play,_ her mind added sinfully.

Erik murmured more of the story in her ear. "But as she gazed upon his naked, sleeping form she spilled the hot oil on him, burning him, and he fled from her. Psyche was left to wander, the Earth then, looking for her lover all around the world. She sought help from other goddesses, but was turned away every time. They knew that she was cursed. And none of them wished to incur jealous Venus' wrath."

Sophie let her hand fall to reach behind her as she grasped his thick, muscled thigh.

Erik moaned softly into her ear as his fingers grabbed at her roughly. His mouth latched onto the sensitive juncture of neck and shoulder as he bit her lightly.

Sophie moaned herself then and was completely unapologetic as she arched into the sensation and dug her fingers into the muscles of his thigh. He rocked against her and pulled her even tighter against him.

"And then?" she whispered breathily.

He released her neck and licked the spot he'd bitten. "What?" he mumbled, confused.

She grinned and leaned her head back onto his shoulder. "The story," she teased.

"Ah," he muttered as his fingers reached up to her neck and he undid the top buttons of her gown. His hand parted the fabric as he traced a finger along her collarbone, his palm pressing against her breastbone.

Sophie felt her heart beating wildly as his hand slipped further until his finger dipped below the edge of the corset and rubbed against her sensitive nipple. Her mouth felt dry and her body felt as if she was on fire. He'd started a passion within her that could not be quenched. She licked her lips and felt an ache building deep inside her as Erik palmed her breast and whispered in her ear with his seductive voice.

Somehow he managed to persist in his telling of the myth. "Psyche learned then that she had angered Venus, and so she prayed to that goddess for help. Venus, supplicated by the beautiful woman's prayers, answered her and agreed to forgive poor Psyche on the condition that Psyche would agree to travel to the underworld and retrieve a portion of Queen Porsepine's beauty. Psyche did as she was bade, but on the return trip home she was tempted to take the beauty for herself and opened the bottle. There was a spell upon it, however, and so she fell into a deep sleep in the wilderness. The moment of her awakening by her lover Cupid is depicted here in this statue. See how they look at each other with longing, and love, and lust."

Sophie's hand tightened on his thigh. She pulled him as close to her as he could get with her layers of petticoats and skirts acting as a barrier between them. She needed to feel the length of him against her as he drove her wild with his touch.

His fingers rolled her nipple and he pinched the taut flesh lightly.

She moaned louder then in response.

"What happens next?" she asked breathily. She needed more from him. A familiar ache began to build within her as he played with her and teased her.

"Don't worry Sophie, this one is a happy story. Zeus, the king of the gods, grants Cupid the right to marry her. Psyche is allowed to drink ambrosia at their wedding feast, and as such she gains immortality and joins him in the heavens."

Her thoughts were muddled by the feelings that were building within her. She wanted whatever might quench this awful hunger that his caress had awakened. She'd never felt such passions stir inside her before.

Sophie turned in Erik's embrace and wrapped her arms around his neck. She pulled his head down into a kiss and sighed when his tongue darted out to part her lips. He wrapped his arms around her and let one hand trail slowly down her back until he gripped her backside and squeezed.

She moaned into his mouth as he reached his other hand down and pulled her tighter against him. Her fingers slid down the nape of his neck as one hand reached forward to brush against his chest.

Erik kissed her deeper still as she let her hands glide down his chest and then she threaded them between his jacket and vest. She needed to feel him too.

He released her mouth then and pulled back as if to ask her a question.

But before he could speak there was a sound that echoed down the dark corridors.

Erik cursed and fished his pocket watch from his pocket. He clicked it open and checked the time. "They're early," he grumbled.

And then he was grabbing Sophie by the arm and propelling her from the room. It took three rooms and two hallways before they found a dark recess in the stonework where the light of the dim gas lamps did not reach. Erik pulled her into the shadows, then pressed against her and blocked them both from sight.

Sophie buried her face into his chest and smiled. She wanted to moan in frustration and giggle in delight at the same time. Being nearly caught was more exciting than she'd thought.

The guard whistled as he walked his path through the museum. His steps came closer still as he made his rounds.

Erik towered over her and pressed her even deeper into the wall.

She stifled the nervous laughter that was threatening to spill and she took the moment to breathe in Erik's musky scent. She wondered if he knew that he smelled like ink, and fine leather, and spicy Persian tea.

Eventually the guard passed. The glow of his lantern faded and his tune carried down the hallway in his retreat and they were alone again.

Erik waited even longer, then pulled back from her.

Sophie reached up to him and pulled his face back down to hers for a kiss.

And he complied. He pressed her back into the alcove and leaned his weight against her as they kissed. His hand reached once again into the opening of her top and his fingers continued their rough manipulation of her breast.

Sophie's nipples hardened at the harsh treatment and her breathing became more ragged. Her tongue met his equally in thrusting as they kissed.

Suddenly Erik's hand was running down the skirts of her bad leg. He grasped her by the back of her knee and pulled it up so that it hooked around him. The movement was awkward as her skirts got in the way of things.

Sophie reached down to pull them aside as his probing fingers caressed her thigh and slipped dangerously low. And then a moment later he'd found an entry among the ruffles and layers and he was running a hand up the sensitive skin of the inside of her thigh.

Sophie's leg quivered in response and she moaned into his kiss. Her tongue darted into his mouth and wrapped around his own. The rough stone wall pressed against her back as Erik held her immobile against it with his taut, muscled body.

His mouth released hers as he pulled back slightly and gazed into her eyes. His fingers found the slit in her drawers and he brushed a knuckle faintly against her slit and found it sopping wet.

Her breathing hitched raggedly as his probing fingers sought their entry through the gap in the fabric. Erik's long, nimble fingers were playing with her then and spreading her folds wide. She couldn't stifle the moan that tore through her as he sank one testing finger deep within her.

His other hand came up and covered her mouth as he added a second digit inside of her slick core.

Her hips bucked against his fingers as he let his thumb make lazy circles against the sensitive nub between her folds. She felt her juices dripping down his fingers and onto her inner thighs as he played and toyed with her.

The sensations changed then as he explored her. The ache became insatiable and she was overcome then with the intense desire to be filled and stretched.

Erik's amber eyes stared down at her with an unreadable expression as she writhed and bucked under his manipulations. Her hips had a mind of their own as they moved against him.

Sophie pulled her skirts further out of the way and angled her hips to give him greater access.

He ground his palm against her as his fingers found a thrusting rhythm.

She felt her release building as he touched and teased and taunted her. Her eyes never left his as he found her most sensitive places and caressed them. He shifted rhythms frequently until he found the one that made her gasp the loudest.

Sophie ached and hungered for him as his fingers worked her senseless.

Her control was spent as she rode his fingers until the dam that was holding her pleasure at bay burst and she came in shattering waves of pleasure. Her inner muscles clenched around his fingers as he kept his hand across her mouth to stifle her loud moans.

Sophie's thigh quivered in the aftershocks.

He pulled his hand away from her mouth then and placed it on the wall beside her head.

She watched him as he withdrew his other hand from within her and then examined the stretchy strings of the aftermath of her pleasure.

Erik placed his fingers in his mouth and tasted her.

Sophie sucked in her breath as his tongue darted out to lick the last trace of her from his hand.

Her skirts dropped to the ground along with her leg as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her for another kiss. She tasted herself on his tongue and found it pleasing.

After Erik eventually pulled away from her she buttoned the top buttons of her bodice.

"We should hurry from this hallway before the guard's next rounds," he whispered in the dark.

She smiled shakily. "I don't know that I can walk just yet," she confessed with a cheeky grin.

Erik grinned back at her, then scooped her up into his arms. "That's not a problem," he said cockily.

She wrapped her arm around his neck and laughed softly.

"What country should we visit next, my love?" he asked her.

Sophie buried her head into the crook of his neck and placed her lips against the skin of his neck. "Take me to bed," she whispered into his ear.


	20. Chapter 20

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 20

Erik knew two things.

The first thing he knew was that his Sophie was not entirely untouched. He thought about the way that she'd responded to him at the Louvre. How she'd accepted his touch and teased him in return. The feeling of her as his fingers had sought entry and found no resistance there. How she'd encouraged him. The sensation of her as she'd been wet and warm and ready for him. It wasn't completely shocking to him. She was no sheltered young maiden raised under the overprotective wing of a devout Catholic foster mother. Sophie had to be at least in her twenties. And virginity was not considered such a prize among the working class.

The second thing he knew was that his total lack of experience now made him feel insecure and at a total loss of how to precede next. He knew the rough mechanics of what they might do. He'd certainly seen enough glimpses of the hurried trysts between the dancers and chorus members in dark corners of the opera populaire after a successful show. And the Hindus had their own beliefs on how a marriage bed should be run. They'd even, quite literally, written the book on it. How utterly embarrassing, then, to feel so incompetent at something that seemed quite natural to everyone else.

Erik picked the papers up from atop the pipe organ and shuffled and reorganized them for the fifth time that evening.

 _Take me to bed._ She'd whispered the words into his ear. He shivered at the memory and felt his blood rushing downward as he began to swell again at the memory of her hushed moans as her body clenched against his fingers.

He'd carried her from the museum and placed her into the carriage, then driven them back to the burned down Opera house. He'd helped her down the stairs and felt his heart swelling as she giggled and clung to him.

And then she'd excused herself with a kiss and disappeared into the bedroom. The curtain had hidden her from view and shut him out.

He sorted and shuffled the papers again. Perhaps he'd misunderstood her. Maybes his hopes and expectations had run away with him again and she'd intended to sleep, satiated and secure… and alone.

His eyes glanced at the curtain that blocked her room from his view.

Should he go and see what was taking her so long? _No, that would be presumptive._

The fears and doubts that plagued him constantly took root now.

Erik paced along the dais and felt the unleashed energy coursing through his veins. He needed some sort of outlet for it before it drove him mad. Setting the papers aside Erik sat at his pipe organ and began to play _the music of the night_. It didn't matter that he hadn't played this song in forever, his fingers remembered every note.

From the corners of his eyes he saw the curtain shift. Sophie stood on the threshold in just her chemise. Her auburn hair tumbled in waves down one shoulder and her cheeks were flushed and rosy as she stared up at him from afar. The candlelight turned her white nightgown sheer where it clung against her and Erik could see the peaks of her dusky nipples through the fabric even from this distance.

Erik focused on his playing as Sophie made her way over to join him. He let the seductive music swirl about them and fill the cavern as she padded over to him on bare feet. The bench creaked as she sat beside him.

"What song is this one?" she asked him as she settled herself on the narrow bench.

"The Music of the Night," he answered softly.

He could see her tilt her head as she turned on the bench to face him better.

"It's lovely. Are there words to it?" she asked lightly.

His fingers paused on the keys and the song stopped. The last note echoed around them. She'd never asked him such a thing before.

"Yes," he answered in a strangled voice.

"You never sing for me," she thought out loud. "I never noticed it until just now. The little tricks of singing, sure, like the tea cups or the flowers, but never an actual song. So I know that you _can_ sing…"

Erik swallowed hard and let his hands fall to his lap. She was bound to have noticed eventually.

"That was by design, actually," he murmured shyly.

Sophie reached a hand out and clasped his own. Her brow furrowed in a look of worry and confusion.

"What's wrong?" she asked in a concerned voice. "Erik you don't have to sing for me if you don't want to."

"That's not it," he contradicted her. He hung his head and refused to meet her troubled gaze. He couldn't look at her, half naked and sitting on the bench next to him. She was a perfect juxtaposition of the untouchable angel, and the seductive Eve. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him by sitting next to him like this? He wanted to grab her and have her right there on the floor of the cave. He took a deep breath and focused on its exhale.

"Then… what? I'm not a mind reader. If something is wrong you have to tell me what it is," she coaxed.

"My voice can sway people- a trick I learned at an early age for surviving with my mother. It has been useful on numerous occasions. And I've honed the skill well over the years," he explained.

Sophie was quiet for a moment. "I saw a street performer one Summer near Montmartre. He claimed to be a hypnotist who could mesmerize people. He was advertising for his show that night at a nearby bar. I didn't have the coins to spare so I never saw him perform. But I heard people talking afterwards. Is it like that?"

"In a way. Some people are more receptive than others. I have used it shamelessly in the past. And things did not... end well," he said as he grimaced. His eyes subconsciously looked up at the ceiling where the burned down remains of the opera populaire stood above them. "I… didn't want there to be any question… this time. I wanted to be sure that I had not swayed you with… unfair means."

She reached a hand out and grasped one of his hands from where they were laid in his lap. Her thumb stroked along the side of his hand reassuringly.

He risked a glance at her. Instead of disgust or fear he saw something else, something softer. She smiled at him as his eyes met hers.

"Do you know when I realized that I loved you?" she asked him then.

His heart fluttered and his stomach clenched as if he would be sick. She loved him?

"It was that day when you taught me to skip stones. There was such a lightness about you. Something boyish and sweet. You grabbed me from behind to help me with the arm motion and I realized that I was disappointed when you stepped away. I realized then that I'd been fighting the feelings for a while," she confessed.

"Such an innocuous thing?" he mumbled to himself questioningly. It seemed absurd. Such a little thing had won her heart? No grand gesture, or elaborate plot. Just twenty minutes at the underground lake picking through stones to find the right ones and grinning at her look of exasperation as she repeatedly failed.

He turned his hand on hers so that their fingers intertwined, then reached up with his other hand to stroke her cheek. He tucked a wayward curl back behind her ear and his finger smeared the blush of rouge along her cheek.

She loved him, he thought. She painted herself and come out to him in just her slip. He'd pleasured her and licked the proof of her desire from his fingers. She'd seen him without the mask and she'd kissed him anyways. His Sophie loved him. His heart exploded and he felt like if he died right then and there it would have all been worth it. Every misery and scar had led him to this moment here with Sophie loving every twisted, malformed inch of him.

Erik threaded his fingers through her hair and pulled her into him for a deep kiss. She sighed against his mouth, then moaned as he parted her lips with his tongue.

He loved the way she sighed and whimpered and moaned. He would enjoy finding out what sensations triggered each delightful sound. He vowed to himself that she'd become his greatest instrument yet as he learned to make her body sing with pleasure.

Sophie broke away from the kiss, to his confusion, but smiled up at him with a look of adoration on her face.

"Sing something for me," she requested.

How could he deny her anything? He'd move the stars for her if she asked it of him.

Erik ran a hand through his wig and straightened his mask. He set his hands to the keys and began to play. As he played the intro to the song he licked his lips and then began to sing for her. The music filled the cave and echoed out across the lake.

 _Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation_

 _Darkness stirs and wakes imagination_

 _Silently the senses abandon their defenses_

 _Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor_

 _Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender_

 _Turn your face away from the garish light of day_

 _Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light_

 _And listen to the music of the night_

 _Close you eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams_

 _Purge your thoughts of the world you knew before_

 _Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar_

 _And you'll live as you've never lived before_

 _Softly, deftly, music shall surround you_

 _Feel it, hear it, closing in around you_

 _Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind_

 _In this darkness which you know you cannot fight_

 _The darkness of the music of the night_

 _Let your mind start a journey through a strange, new world_

 _Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before_

 _Let your soul take you where you long to be_

 _Only then can you belong to me_

 _Floating, falling, sweet intoxication_

 _Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation_

 _Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in_

 _To the power of the music that I write_

 _The power of the music of the night_

 _You alone can make my song take flight_

 _Help me make the music of the night_

The last notes of the song faded as his hands paused on the keys. He turned to glance at her and saw the hazy look of budding lust in her unfocused eyes. Her cheeks were rosy on their own now. She hadn't needed the rouge at all.

Sophie reached out to him and pulled his face to hers in an intense kiss. Their tongues met as they explored each other. And then the bench creaked and swayed a bit as Sophie pulled back and shifted her weight. She was hiking up her thin chemise and moving to straddle his lap on the narrow bench.

His hands reached to grasp her by the hips and steady the both of them as the bench threatened to topple over on the uneven ground. Her laugh stunned him as she cupped his face in her hands and pulled him to her mouth again.

He ground his lips against her and relished the sound of her moan as he let his hands roam her backside. His fingers pulled at the lacy material and gathered it up until his fingers met the flesh of her thighs. He marveled at her softness. How on earth was anything as soft as this woman who was straddling him? Surely there was nothing more pleasant than the feeling of this soft, warm skin against his callused hands.

Erik felt himself hardening against her as he straddled him and kissed him with wild abandon. He grasped her hips more firmly and ground her against him. They both moaned then as Sophie pulled her lips away and threw her head backwards. She angled her hips and moved against the length of him in a pantomime of the deed that his body craved. The change in sensation pulled a shuddering breath from his as he hardened even more. Need filled him as she rocked against him. He needed to bury himself inside of her, to split her wide and fill her to bursting until they both screamed with pleasure.

He reached a hand up to grasp one of the full breasts that swayed before his face. Her dusky nipples were taut as they tented the fabric of the sheer chemise. His thumb slid over the firm peak and rolled it around. Sophie moaned deeper when he pinched it lightly between two fingers. Her hips jerked against him in an altered rhythm. What an interesting reaction. He filed that information away for later.

He shifted their weight and the bench threatened to give way as Sophie's back hit the keys of the pipe organ. The discordant notes interrupted the mood and made her laugh. She looked at him and grinned, then leaned forward to place a kiss against his lips as her hips moved in a circle on his lap.

"Take me to bed now, Erik," she whispered against his lips. Well there was no misinterpreting or denying that request now. Now while she sat there half naked in his lap riding his erection as she kissed him wildly.

Sophie screamed playfully in his ear when he grabbed firmly by her hips and stood, taking her with him. Her arms wrapped themselves around his neck. The bench, much abused and now entirely forgotten, toppled over onto the ground. Erik delighted in the way she wrapped her legs around him and held on to him.

He carried her down the stone steps and across the cavern and past the dividing curtain that separated their living quarters.

Once they'd reached the bedroom he relaxed his grip on her and let her pull her feet down to the ground so that she stood on her own before him. She unwrapped her arms from around his neck and pulled away slightly. Her hand reached up and pulled on the end of a ribbon at the neckline of her chemise. The bow untied and slackened the neckline of the shift.

Erik dared not take his eyes off of her as she pulled the garment away from one shoulder and then the other until it skimmed down her body and puddled on the floor. Dear God she was glorious. He wanted to stare at her for hours until the image of her, naked and exposed and looking at him with love, was etched permanently into his memory. Her full breasts and dusky, nipples, the soft skin of her stomach, the auburn curls that nestled at the juncture of her legs and hid her sex from his view.

He gulped as she reached forward to undo the buttons of his shirt. He helped her undress him until his clothes joined her chemise on the floor.

A sense of pride filled him as she stared at the proof of his desire and her eyebrows rose in surprise. He hadn't been lying to the Khanum when he'd joked that if the Shah's mother wanted to castrate him and hang his manhood around his neck then she'd need a bigger jar.

Erik struggled to maintain his composure as Sophie's hands and fingers explored him. She started at his chest. She caressed him then: the puckered skin of his scarred back, the flatness of his stomach, and the sensitive strip of untouched skin along his ribs. He shivered as her fingers trailed around his torso.

She leaned forward and their lips met as her hand traveled down the path of hair on his stomach. Her tongue darted forward to part his lips as her fingers found him finally. Her tentative fingers brushed against the sensitive tip, smeared the bead of moisture that gathered at the tip, then slid along his thick length and cupped his balls. He moaned against her mouth as she played and toyed with him until he felt the pressure building at his base. Her fingers grasped him tightly and stroked proficiently. _Not like this_ , he thought. He needed to feel himself sinking deep inside of her instead of finding his release in her hand.

Erik pulled her hand away and grasped her probing hand tightly by the wrist. He pulled her arm back behind her and he held her immobile against him. Slowly he advanced and walked them backwards until her calves hit the edge of the bed. He released her and watched as she took the hint and sank backwards onto the bed.

What a sight she made, kneeling there on the red silk sheets, her auburn hair picking up the reds of the bedding and the glow from the candlelight and shining warmly as it tumbled down her back wildly. Her eyes sparkled up at him as he towered over her. And then he joined her.

He let his hands roam over her softly curved body as he pulled her closer to him. He squeezed her ass and delighted in the way that her breathing hitched as he groped and teased her. His finger reached around and tested her and found the curls between her legs were damp from desire again.

His hand splayed against her chest and he gently pushed her backwards. Sophie settled herself against the pillows as he grabbed her by the knees and spread her legs apart. He kneeled between them and let his hand reach again into the nest of curls between her legs. His thumb found the nub that made her moan and writhe as his fingertips explored the depths of her. His other hand slid down and he played with her breast while he simultaneously explored her wet depths again. Her hips bucked once and then again and her head arched back into the pillow at his probing touch. He was satisfied then that she was well prepared for him when her breathing hitched.

"Are you certain?" he asked her as he scooted forward and seated himself at her entrance and then paused.

Her breathing was labored and her hips twitched in response. "I want to feel you inside of me," she moaned breathily.

Well there was absolutely no mistaking that, now. He was grateful in that moment that she was not completely naive. He was not sure that he'd have had the restraint needed for the gentle coaxing and deflowering of a virgin. But he was also terrified that he'd disappoint her.

Erik angled his hips and slid the length of him inside of her and moaned as the sensations overwhelmed him. He let out a shaky breath. It was even more amazing than he'd hoped or dreamed. She was warm, and wet, and willing beneath him. Her hot depths were so much more accommodating than his hand. Her hips twitched and Erik groaned as he fought to contain his need until she had adjusted to him. He buried himself into the hilt of her, then grasped both sides of her hips and slowly withdrew until he was almost free. The second thrust forward was almost better than the first.

Sophie moaned and met his gaze as he angled forward and drove himself into her again. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips as her breathing hitched.

She moaned every time that he buried himself to the hilt, and she panted every time he withdrew until only the tip of him was left inside of her.

Her eyes closed again as he found a rhythm that suited them both. He leaned over her and placed his weight on one arm as she tilted her hips so that he was even deeper than he'd been. He groaned at the sensation. She was so very wet and responsive to his touch.

Erik thrust into her again and again and he soon learned what triggered each sound she made. She especially liked it when he buried himself into her deeply, brushing hard against the end of her, and then he paused before he withdrew to do it all again. And when he reached his free hand down to pinch her nipple or brush against that nub of pleasure that she loved so much she moaned even louder than before and moved beneath him.

He played her writhing body as he thrust against her until the familiar tension coiled within him and he could no longer contain himself. He grasped both sides of her hips again and pulled her forward and down hard onto his hard length as he thrust as deep as he could get. His pace quickened and his movements had become frantic now. The mask slid uncomfortably against his face as sweat dampened his forehead. He was grunting now with the effort of the rhythm as he thrust into her over and over again, withdrawing just enough to keep himself buried and then moving forward again. Her breasts moved with their efforts and he could not draw his gaze from them as they bounced wildly.

Her muscles squeezed around him then and he was lost in the pleasure of his orgasm as he buried himself in her one last time and felt his release cascading down. Their ragged breathing filled the room as he stilled, kneeled before her, and spilled his seed inside of her. He thrust once more and hissed at the blissful sensation as her muscles clenched around him.

Weak with pleasure now he collapsed his weight onto his forearms.

Sophie leaned up and placed a gentle kiss at the corner of his mouth. He smiled down at her and panted as he tried to catch his breath. She reached up and wiped the sweat from where it had beaded along his brow, and then she unhooked his mask and set it aside.

His instinct was to bury his face into the sheets before she could see him like this, but her hand stopped him and pulled him down to her for a kiss instead. He moaned against her mouth as his manhood grew limp inside of her and she wrapped her legs around him, and trapped him inside of her.

He needed to tell her how much he loved her. He felt the words building up inside of him until they couldn't be contained any longer. His lips broke free of hers as he stared into her eyes. "Marry me," his traitorous lips said instead.

Her eyebrows rose up and her lips parted in shock as she blinked up at him.

"What?" she asked him in complete surprise.

His mind raced and he cursed himself inwardly. What a fool. This was not what he had planned at all. But the words were said and could not be taken back now.

He took a deep breath and let it go. He made to move but her legs tightened and held him firmly in place. He reached a hand up to brush a curl away from her face.

"This, uh, wasn't how I'd planned to ask you…" he muttured. He groaned internally. What a fool he was. The grand romantic gesture he'd planned was ruined now by his post sex addled brain. He wondered if this happened to all men. Why had nobody warned him?

"How did you plan to ask me?" she asked him.

He shifted and slipped out of her but stayed locked between her legs. He leaned his weight on one elbow and found her hand with his other. Their fingers intertwined and her pulled her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.

"At the museum," he answered her shyly.

"At the museum…" she murmured. Her brow creased. "At.. at what part of the evening?" she questioned him.

"Ah… at the Psyche and Cupid statue. I was going to get down on one knee and present you with the ring…" he mumbled.

Her eyebrows rose even higher. "The ring?"

He extricated himself from the trapping of her legs and slid off the bed to rummage through their pile of discarded clothing.

Erik pulled the little black velvet box from the pocket of his pants, then climbed back into the bed and settled beside her. Sophie let her legs fall to one side so that he could spoon himself flush against her. He opened the ring box and presented it to her, then watched her face for her reaction.

"Oh!" she exclaimed as she took the ring box from him.

He wanted to grin in satisfaction, but he was acutely aware that she had not yet accepted his untimely, spontaneous proposal.

Seconds passed but felt like hours as he held his breath.

Sophie pulled the ring free from the box and studied it in the glow of the candle lit room. She dropped the box aside and handed the ring to him then and bit her lower lip as she held out her left hand towards him.

"Is that a yes?" he asked hopefully. He felt like he was about to die at any second.

Sophie grinned at him and nodded. "Yes," she replied.

Erik grasped the ring and slid it onto her finger, then leaned down and captured her lips in a kiss. Sophie's hand reached up and stroked his face.

His future bride. His heart swelled until it felt like it might burst with happiness.


	21. Chapter 21

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 21

Sophie snuggled into Erik's side as she held her hand up in the air to inspect the ring. It was stunning. She'd never seen such skilled otherworldly artistry before. The ring was shaped like a rose with a center stone nestled in the middle of a whorl of petals edged in smaller diamonds. The band was a twist of thorny vines, with tiny leaves, which encircled her finger.

"Do you like it?" He asked her in a timid voice.

"I love it. It's so beautiful," She exclaimed happily.

"You're beautiful," he said, and then he kissed her on the neck.

She absently wondered how he'd figure out her ring size. The band was perfectly snugged to her finger. Was there anything that her genius fiancé couldn't do? The thought filled her with warm feelings. Her fiancé. She wanted to say the word over and over again. Erik's hand stroked the skin of her bare shoulder and the sensation sent shivers down her spine.

Sophie rolled over and pressed her lips to his in a gentle kiss. His arm reached out to encircle her in an embrace and pull her even tighter against him.

She swung her leg over him and placed her hands on his chest and firmly pushed him away. He pulled back and looked at her in confusion. She pressed harder and rolled them both until he landed on his back and then she was sitting up as she straddled him.

His confused look turned sinful as he stared at her sitting on his lap and it made her throb in wanton desire. Erik hands reached up to grasp her by the hips as she leaned forward to catch his mouth with hers again.

She could feel him stiffening against her backside. He'd already recovered then, she thought. What stamina her fiancé had for her. She was pleased at this and ground her hips against him to show him her intent.

His hands wandered up and down her backside as she settled herself. Her hips rocked and ground against him and Erik moaned. She couldn't have helped the satisfied smirk that crossed her face.

She lifted her hips, despite his protests, and reached a hand back to find him. It took a few moments of fumbling and some false starts but then they were situated and Sophie was lowering herself onto him. She bit her lip to stop the initial hiss of discomfort as her now tender muscles stretched again around the girth of him. Erik groaned beneath her as she found a rhythm. Her hips rose up and down as she rode him relentlessly. She placed her hands against his chest to keep her balance and she was pleased when he began to moan and murmur nonsense. His breathing quickened as she worked him up and down.

Her muscles clenched around him and she was rewarded with another moan. She teased him tirelessly with a slow and steady pace, her muscles clenching and then releasing as she rode him on the bed.

Erik opened his eyes and met her gaze as his fingers tightened on her hips. His hips rose off the bed and then he was wrenching the control from her as he moved beneath her. She held still and let him seek his pleasure as his hips bucked wildly beneath her. Tension built deep within her as she sought her relief.

Her pelvis tilted in his haste and then he was hitting a new spot at a different angle. She moaned alongside him as he brushed against some knot of nerves inside. Her toes curled of their own volition and her hands grabbed at his chest and shoulders as he thrust in and out of her. It was all that she could do to stay upright and in place as he bucked against her.

At first she bit her lip to stifle her screams until she remembered that there was no one to hear her. So then she let herself lose control as he brushed against that spot again and she felt herself toppling over the edge of her release. His rhythm never faltered as she rode him through her waves of pleasure. She felt her muscles clenching and then releasing and her breath came in deep shudders as she all but collapsed on top of him.

But Erik was still bucking and thrusting underneath her until his pace became even more frantic and then his whole body jerked and was taut. His muscles tensed as he grabbed her hips and ground her against him.

Sophie took his cue and held completely still, using her muscles to stroke him from within. He shuddered against her and twitched and then he was still as well. He grunted as she rose up high enough to release him. Her legs quivered and felt useless.

His arms wrapped around her and he dragged her down on top of him then as he held her to his chest. Her hand had found his and their fingers intertwined as they laid together in the aftermath of their lovemaking.

"if that is your response then remind me to buy you more jewelry in the future," he joked with a chuckle.

Sophie slapped his chest playfully and laughed. Then she rolled to the side a little and settled into the nook between Erik's side and arm.

"How do you feel about June," She asked him when she'd caught her breath.

"Not too hot, pleasant in the evenings, usually less rainy than May," he said dryly.

Sophie tweaked his nipple and enjoyed the way he jumped. "For the wedding, you ass," she chided.

Erik placed a kiss atop her forehead which made Sophie smile.

"So far away?" he inquired.

She tilted her head to look up at him. "It's already April. That isn't so long to wait," she rationalized.

He was silent as he ran a hand up and down her arm. His fingers left goosebumps in their wake.

"You'll want to get married in a church, then?" he asked.

"Isn't that typically how it's done?" she rebutted wryly.

He shrugged. "I always liked churches. Nice architecture. Lots of music. And they're typically easy to break into for shelter. Bell towers and such. Are you Catholic?"

"yes… although I'm not a very _good_ Catholic," she admitted.

Sophie realized then that there was much that she still didn't know about her future husband.

"Are you not Catholic?" she asked him.

"I never had much use for religion, personally," he told her plainly. "Does that bother you?"

She shook her head against his chest. "No," she answered him.

His fingers found the ring which had twisted in their activity and he turned it around back into its proper place on her finger.

"I don't even know your last name," she wondered out loud.

"If I have one I've never known what it was," he replied. His voice was even and calm.

Sophie gazed up at him and saw his neutral expression. She pulled her hand free from his fingers and reached up to stroke the scarred, deformed side of his face. He turned his head until her hand covered that side of his face and then he placed a small kiss on her palm. She left it there and stroked the tender skin.

"You'll need a good last name. All famous composers have great names," she soothed him with her soft voice.

"I've… always fancied the name Ravel," he admitted shyly. The name rolled off his tongue.

"Rhuvelle?" she tested out the name. It felt unfamiliar in her mouth.

"It means to untangle or to unconfuse something. Or sometimes it's used to describe the creation of one thing from another like the weaving of a net from rope. It's Dutch, actually," he explained.

She smiles at him as the meaning became clear to her. "a transformation, then. Making something useful from something cast off," she inferred.

He kissed her palm again. "You see right through me," he muttered.

"Oh, no… not all all. I see you simply as you are. You've led a difficult life. You've done things that no child should ever have to do to survive. Your mother failed you in every way that she could have. No, Erik, don't make excuses for her," she added when he tried to interrupt. "She failed you. Believe me, I would know."

Erik locked her hand onto the deformed side of his face with his own. He closed his eyes and took a ragged breath. "You are too good for me," he whispered.

"Don't you dare do that either," she commanded imperiously.

His eyes flew open to look at her.

"I've done things too, to survive. Horrible things. Don't put me on a pedestal. It's a very long way to fall. I'm just a woman. You're just a man. We all make mistakes. What's important is what we learn from them and that we try to be better... for next time."

"I've done things that are considered unforgivable. I've taken lives with no remorse for the taking afterwards. That can hardly compare to your own sins, whatever those may be," he condescended.

"You don't know my sins. They can't be compared at all," she argued.

He snorted rudely and Sophie felt her ire rising.

"Murder is a sin. It is the worst sin that exists," he countered.

"Alright, then. I don't care. I suppose that makes me a very _bad_ Catholic. So be it," She retorted.

Why were they fighting now? She hadn't meant it to turn out like this at all. Not when she could still feel the evidence of their coupling as it trickled down between her thighs. Not when they were both naked and exposed and raw.

"Did it fill you with pleasure?" she asked him brusquely. "When you killed those men. When you killed Nadir's son. Did you delight in it?"

He grimaced and made to move away. But she gripped him by the arm and would not let him pull away from her.

"I can see the disgust on your face at such a thought. You took no pleasure from their deaths. No more. Promise me that there will be no more bodies left in your wake and I will give you my forgiveness, if you want it, even though you do not really need it."

Erik pulled her hand from his face and stared down at her with a bewildered expression on his face. "How can you even contemplate forgiving me for such crimes? No one else did." His voice was weak and quiet.

Her eyes misted over with contained sadness. "Because I love you. Maybe I'm selfish. I'll add that to my list of sins," she joked melancholically.

The silence stretched between them. "No more. I promise you," he answered finally.

She dragged his face down to her and kissed him on the mouth in an attempt to force him to believe her: that she loved him, that she forgave him, that she wanted him, that she would still marry him. She relaxed when his mouth softened against hers and he returned her kiss.

Together they settled on the bed. Sophie curled against his side and draped one leg and arm over him. Erik pulled the covers over them and stroked her hair. Laying there like that they fell asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

Sophie awoke some time later to the feeling of Erik's fingers in her hair. She sighed and stretched against him. Her hand caressed his torso and she was startled when she brushed against his erection.

She opened her eyes to look down and see that he was quite fully aroused.

"Again?" she asked incredulously.

"How could I ever tire of you? It's like I was a dying man who found an oasis in the desert. You make me insatiable," he said as his hand tightened in her hair. He pulled her head back harshly and took the opportunity to leave a trail of kisses down her exposed neck. His other hand rose up to cup her breast and Sophie moaned.

Sophie enjoyed the mixture of pain and pleasure as his mouth trailed down her body and his hand fisted somewhat roughly in her hair. He pinched her nipple and pulled a moan from her as her body throbbed for him despite its soreness. Would she ever tire of his hands, his mouth, the feeling of him spreading her legs and thrusting into her? She moaned at the memory as he played with her breast and tugged at her hair.

"I was thinking sooner," he said abruptly.

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "What?" she asked him.

"For the wedding," he clarified.

"Don't we need at least a month for the bans?" she countered rationally. His fingers were rolling her nipple around and the distracting sensation was making thinking difficult at the moment. She swallowed and tried to stifle the moan that rose in her throat.

How could something so rough feel so delicious?

He kissed her deeply, then pulled back from her. "Don't forget who you're marrying, my dear," he ordered her with a sudden mock severity edging his voice.

"Even you can't change the word of the Pope, Erik," she said calmly with a wry smile on her lips.

"Do you doubt me, then?" he asked her as he rolled them both until he was on top of her. His hands grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the bed above her head. The movement left her entirely exposed to his eyes and his one free hand. She shivered and felt her nipples as they tightened in response.

"I'd like to see you try," she challenged him. But since he'd pinned her to the bed and was now towering above her suddenly she wasn't sure if she was referring more to their conversation or to the situation at hand. Erik's fingers were tight but not painful as she struggled against him weakly.

She wriggled and writhed to test him and his intentions. But he held her fast and there was nowhere to go. Not that she really wanted to get away anyways. His lean muscles were taut with the strain as he pinned her in place.

"How shall we set the terms?" he asked, and then he leaned forward captured her nipple in his mouth.

All thought fled from her head as his warm tongue teased the sensitive tip and sent shock waves down her body. It made her tender parts throb.

He seemed satisfied with himself as released her nipple and looked up at her again. "if I can make you speak a single word then you will let me make all of the arrangements," he bargained with her.

She licked her lips and held his gaze. "And if I don't?" she teased him and then grinned.

His grip tightened on her slowly and then he repositioned himself so that his leg came up between her own and shifted her knees apart. She felt exposed as he held her there and forced her legs to open and her tender, throbbing sex was exposed to him.

"If you can resist and not speak a single word," he said slowly then paused to nip her breast lightly. It made her inhale loudly and then gasp. "Then we will wait till June," he added.

"Do you agree to our little game?" he inquired.

She nodded mutely, and so it began.

Erik held her arms in place above her head in one of his large, strong hands. He let his other hand roam about her body. He started at the hollow of her neck, then his fingers trailed down the outer curve of her breast. It tickled and made her squirm as he ran fingertips lightly across her ribcage and side. She bit her lip as he moved from her side to her hip. His fingers made little circles as they shifted to explore the tender skin of her inner thigh.

Her legs made to close in reflex as he brushed against the tender, throbbing junction between her thighs. His knee intercepted it and forced her legs apart again. The cool air of the cavern made her warm, moist sex twitch at the change. The whole time his tight grip on her wrists never slacked.

He leaned forward again to take one nipple into his mouth as his fingers caressed the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. He brushed against her aching sex but ignored it and her sudden need for him as he focused wholly on her breasts instead.

Sophie gasped as he nipped her lightly, then swirled her nipple in his mouth. His hand reached up and slapped her breast lightly. She gasped in shock and stared at him with wide eyes. The corner of her mouth tipped up in a grin.

"Say 'stop' and I will," he advised her.

Sophie clamped her lips shut and raised her chin at him resolutely in her silent reply.

And then his fingers were moving where she needed him. Her body arched off of the bed as his thumb brushed against the bundle of nerves within her folds.

It didn't matter that he'd already taken her twice that night, suddenly she ached for him again despite her soreness. Would it always be this way? Would he always have her, then leave her wanting even more of him? She felt like a wanton harlot as his fingers brushed against her sex and teased her slick folds apart.

Erik took advantage of her muteness as his fingers grabbed and groped at her. And then suddenly he was grabbing her by the hip and shoulder and he'd rolled her over onto her stomach. He pulled her wrists back to the small of her back and held them firmly in place.

She turned her head to the side to get more air. When his fingers trailed a path along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs she couldn't help the moan that escaped her. His hand was caressing her backside then, his fingers alternating rubbing and grabbing.

Erik's hand pulled away from her, and then suddenly it was there again with a sting. Sophie gasped, unable to stop the sounds from coming from her, as he repeated it. He was… spanking her? She bit her lip at the pain as he delivered five more blows to one buttock. She felt her flesh rebounding with each thwack as his fingers stung against the tender skin. And then he paused and he was running his fingers ever so faintly against the smarting skin. Sophie moaned at the sensation. The soft skin was made even more tender, and the sensation of his fingers felt tenfold more sensual than before. As he caressed her smarting backside the confusing sensations sent tingles to her throbbing sex. She arched her hips beneath him. His fingers brushed along her folds as he switched from one buttock to another.

And then his hand was gone and he was spanking her again. Five smarting slaps and one lingering touch had her hips writhing in response. The sensation was beyond curious as he mixed pleasure and pain. Her lips parted as she panted. Again, Erik's fingers trailed across her folds as he moved from one buttock to another.

She thought that she'd become accustomed to this new game until Erik changed things yet again. He abandoned his forming pattern and began to assault her in a way that no one had ever touched her before. It felt so shameful to be taking pleasure from something like this. But Erik gave her the perfect mixture of pleasure and pain as he teased her and played with her.

His fingers brushed against her, and then his stinging blows were landing a little more carelessly towards her sex and her thighs. She yelped when his hand found the extra sensitive spot where the thigh met the buttock.

His hand which had been holding her wrists together at the small of her back let go and he was grabbing at her hips and pulling her into the air.

She made to get up until his hands forced her shoulders back down, leaving her ass up in the air. Sophie blushed and was glad that her face was turned away from him. It seemed extra shameful to be in such a position while he was kneeling behind her on the bed.

Erik's hands continued the assault on her backside. The addition of the other hand was too much. Instead of alternating between teasing and spanking, now he was doing both at once. One hand buried itself in her slick folds and teased at the bundle of nerves between her legs while his other hand rained sharp, stinging, heavy blow after blow on her thighs and buttocks and occasionally across her throbbing, dripping sex. Her thighs quivered at the strain as her pleasure began to build.

Sophie felt the familiar sensations stacking within her as he slapped and caressed her tender skin. Her backside was throbbing, pink and warm, just like her sex now. She bit her lip to stifle the moans that would escape her as he spanked and teased her and drove her close to orgasm. Everytime she neared that cliff his pattern would change. He kept her on the edge as he toyed with her. Yet she kept her silence. She refused to give in.

His assault on her paused as he fisted a hand in her hair and pulled her head back. She arched her ass up higher in response and he seemed pleased with that response because his fingers returned to where she ached the most for him. He sank two fingers into her and stretched her wide.

When Sophie attempted to tilt her hips and thrust against his fingers she found them withdraw. She mewled her disappointment as his fingers left her aching and empty. Her thighs quivered with the strain as she edged on the cusp of orgasm yet again. The craving to be filled and fucked were too intense. Her breath was ragged as his thumb brushed against her swollen, tender sex.

She heard him shifting behind her and then his hands were grabbing her hips. Sophie felt the tip of his cock as it brushed against her entrance and she smiled, pleased that he would end her sweet suffering finally. But he held her still and when she tried to shift backwards, to sink herself around him, he held her immobile and away from him as he teased her.

"Beg," he commanded.

She panted and quivered in response as he brushed against the entrance of her and denied her what she wanted most in that moment.

She grunted in response.

Her hands left her back to grasp the sheets beside her as he rubbed his erection against her. One hand held her hips still as the other reached around to tease her swollen flesh. His fingers probed into her slick folds and found the swollen nub that made her writhe. He played and toyed with her until she felt her resolve crumble. She knew his game then. He'd play dirty until he won. He'd deny her what she wanted, needed most, until she caved.

"Please…" she begged him, her voice barely a whisper.

He thrust into her roughly then and pulled her hips back onto him in response.

She cried out in response as he filled her completely, and then she panted as he worked his thick cock in and out of her.

He was thrusting in and out again and again as he placed a hand on her back and pushed her down again. And then he was pulling her hips up and angling her pelvis. She complied and raised her ass higher into the air as her took her roughly from behind. The shame of such a wanton, sinful position heightened her pleasure as he pounded into her again and again.

Sophie buried her face in the sheets and grabbed at them with her hands as he fucked her senseless. His fingers reached around to play with her nub again as he continued to thrust in and out of her.

It was too much. She peaked and crested quickly, then screamed her release as she felt her muscles spasming around him.

Erik's pace was frantic now as he pushed and pulled her and locked her into place and took his pleasure from behind.

A moment later he cried out as he found his release, his fingers dug sharply into her hips as he pulled her back and forward on his spurting cock. She tightened her muscles around him and smiled as she wrenched a moan from him.

Sophie stroked him from within as he spasmed, and then he was still. He laid on top of her and crushed her to the bed and she found the weight of him comforting.

His fingers reached out and found her own and their hands intertwined as he kissed her cheek. She felt his body spasm again as his now limp sex disconnected from her own. Her thighs were slippery from their combined pleasure as he rolled to the side and pulled her to him.

She was wrapped in his embrace as he pulled the sheets over them and he whispered that he loved her in her ear.

Her last thoughts as she fell asleep in his arms was that she was happy to let him think that he had won their little game. She couldn't keep the smile from her face. What difference did a few weeks make, really?

Erik's grip tightened on her and Sophie burrowed deeper into him as he spooned against her.


	22. Chapter 22

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 22

Erik was the first to awaken this time. He placed a tender kiss against Sophie's brow and slipped quietly from the bed. Their clothes were a jumbled, rumpled mess on the floor. He searched them and found his waistcoat and from the interior pocket he retrieved his watch. It was nearly noon. They'd fucked and slept the night and morning away. He smirked and found himself entirely pleased. His pants were a wrinkled mess but they would do. He pulled them on and buttoned them at the waist.

He couldn't remember the last time that he'd ever been this happy. Perhaps when Christine had sung her first Aria on the stage? When the crowd had cheered and clapped and stood for her? He remembered feeling proud and vindicated, for sure. All those years of work and training and tutoring… Her voice had turned out rather fine. But had he been happy in that moment? He couldn't remember anymore.

Erik clicked the pocketwatch shut and watched Sophie shift positions in her sleep. She rolled over and her hand found the empty spot where he had lain just moments before. Her brow creased in a frown. Even in her sleep his little sparrow was missing him already. Had Christine ever missed his presence? Perhaps when she'd known him only as her angel. Certainly not when she'd learned that he was just a man.

He turned away from the bed and left the room. On his way to the bathroom he paused to replace a few of the tapered candlesticks which had burned down to stubs and gone out at some point in the evening. What a dreaded chore, and an insane household expense. His next home would have gas lights, he vowed. No more of this candle nonsense. Or perhaps the new electric lights. Now that was an idea worth some real consideration.

Once in the bathroom he turned the taps which would draw the water into the little soaking tub. He praised his genius for installing his own water heater tank instead of relying on the larger one that had served the opera populaire's dormitories. Heavens knew if that industrial tank was even in working condition now since the… accident.

Hot water filled the tub and Erik allowed himself a moment to empty his bladder and splash water from the basin on his face. He'd have to bathe today as well, he thought to himself. Pleasing his little sparrow had been more work than he'd assumed it would be. And he was sore in places where he'd never been sore before. But the sensations were pleasing, in their own way, when he remembered the how and why of them.

He picked through the various vials of oils and liquid soaps from the cupboard and pulled out one that he'd never used before. He pulled the stopper free from the top and poured a healthy splash of it into the bath. The scent of roses filled the room and Erik smiled to himself. He shut the taps off and returned to the Louis Philippe room.

Sophie laid there asleep in the bed where he had left her. Erik kneeled on the bed and placed a kiss on her brow. She smiled and tried to nestle deeper into the covers. Well.. that wouldn't do. He frowned. He'd never understood why people needed so much sleep. He made do with four or five hours a night if he even slept at all. Sometimes the music wouldn't leave him alone and he'd lose track of days without sleeping a wink. His Sophie, he'd noticed, preferred eight hours. Eight! He couldn't even imagine sleeping for eight hours straight. No wonder most people were so unproductive if they needed eight hours of sleep every single night.

"Sophie," he called out gently. She stirred again. Her arms stretched lazily above her head as she yawned and blinked up at him and in that movement of her arms the sheet pulled away and bared her glorious, naked breasts.

He felt himself stiffening in response. Good lord, not again. He had work to do today. What a spell she had over him if just the sight of her bared breasts made him lose all of his senses and turned him into a rutting beast.

Erik forced his gaze away from her naked breasts and focused on her face instead. She seemed pleased with herself in her half-asleep state. Temptress, he added that to her list of sins. She was doing this to him on purpose. He had half a mind to take her over his knee and… and that thought was not helping things at all. Was he a teenage boy, now? Some moonstruck calf to be led about by the nose?

"I've drawn you a bath," he told her calmly. She grinned at him with her dazzling smile in return. His breathing hitched. Oh the things that she could make him do if only she knew what her smiles did to him. When she moved to sit up and she winced he felt a surge of ridiculous pride. He'd done that to her. Virgin or not, he'd made her scream, and moan, and writhe beneath him and now she was sore, and spent, and satisfied.

Sophie kicked her legs out from under the covers and stood to rise, completely nude and making no move to cover herself. She stopped before him and gave him a chaste kiss on the mouth. She murmured her thanks, then left the room. He stared at her ass while she walked away from him before the curtain blocked her from his view. He wondered idly if she knew that he'd left a small bruise behind; more evidence that it had not been some fantastical dream.

Ah yes, he pulled his thoughts away from memories of her breasts and ass. There was much work to be done today. After all, he'd won their little game and now there was much planning to be done. Erik paused to sniff himself. _But first_ , he thought, _a bath_. He gathered up his clothes and mask and headed to his own, hidden room.

* * *

Erik was sitting at the desk in the main cavern putting the finishing touches on his letter to the realtor when Sophie emerged from the bathing chamber. He heard her footsteps as she padded over to him. The scent of roses lingered on her skin as she came nearer. He was just completing the letter when he felt her hands come to rest lightly on his shoulders.

"Thank you for the bath, Erik, it felt wonderful to finally get a chance to really wash my hair," she murmured in his ear as she wrapped her arms around him and leaned her face down near his.

"You're welcome," he replied. He paused at the signature for a moment, then signed his new name. Erik Ravel. It look strange to him on the paper. But it had felt nice to finally have a signature other than just a few initials that held no real meaning to him. He supposed that he'd grow used to the name with time and repetition.

"What's this?" she asked as she leaned over his shoulder.

"Letters from the realtor. He's sent the documents that I requested last week. And I've just written our acceptance. Under a few conditions, of course."

"Acceptance of what?" she probed.

Erik picked a rolled up piece of paper from the stack of other such papers and spread it out across the table, using candelabras and knick knacks and a stack of books to keep it opened on the desk.

"Here are the blueprints and the details of construction. It will need some renovation, of course. This wall here is not necessary and could be torn down to expand this room here. The realtor advised that there is some stonework detail that is crumbling and needs repair but the structure and the foundation is supposedly sound. It appears that the damage is mostly cosmetic, caused by a tree that was downed by lightning quite some time ago. The tree has since been removed. The damage it wrought is easily fixed. There's a small leak in the roof that will need to be patched, and the plumbing is old and needs some updating but it's still in working order. But I'd already planned to fit it with a newer system so that's easily remedied. Oh, and there's a field with a little creek. You'll like the field."

Sophie leaned around him then and placed her hand on the document in front of her. He took her moment of distraction to study her. Her long hair hung in damp waves down her back. And the fabric of her chemise stuck to her damp skin, clinging to every curve. His eyes rose to her face and he saw her bewildered expression. Did she not like it? Did she think that there was too much work to be done, or that he could not manage it?

"I don't understand," she told him. "What is all of this about cracks and leaks and fields? Are you taking on a job?" She picked up the letter that he'd just penned and began to read.

"Careful, the ink's still wet," he cautioned her.

She read the document and her lips parted in surprise as she finished it.

"This house is yours?" she asked him.

"No," he replied.

She looked at him even more confused then as she set the drying letter back down.

"Or rather, not yet. I'd rather see it in person first to ascertain the truth of its condition. But I've written our contractual acceptance, pending a visit to see it in person first of course, and then if it is as they've described to me and I find no grievous error on my visit then yes, it will be ours," he explained in a roundabout manner.

"You're buying us a house," she summarized. Sophie stared at the blueprints in a daze.

Erik reached out to her and pulled her around and onto his lap. He slung his arm around her waist and was pleased when she put her arm around his neck.

"It comes with twelve acres so we are assured our privacy. There's an open field on the Southern side, and then two-thirds of the line of the property is edged in trees. The rest backs up to a small forest. I'm told there is a garden, or there was a garden, on the Northern side. If it's not worth saving then I think it would be possible to level it out and build a solarium off the kitchen instead," he added.

"A solarium," she parroted as she stared at him blankly.

Erik's brow furrowed. "Yes. A solarium... for your flowers," he reasoned.

She started crying then. Erik felt utterly helpless as he watched the tears roll slowly down Sophie's cheeks.

"We… don't have to build the solarium if the idea upsets you so much," he said worriedly. Why on Earth was she crying? Did she hate it that much? He glanced at the blueprint and wondered what could be so offensive. It was all rather standard. Kitchen, dining room, parlor, six bedrooms, two bathrooms- one upstairs and one downstairs, mind you- and even a storage cellar cut into the ground below the kitchen.

"You've bought us a house, for us to live in," she reiterated between sobs.

"Yes. Us... and your family," he added. "That's why I chose one with so many bedrooms. I'd like one for my own use as a study and a music room, of course," he informed her. On that issue he would not budge if she fussed. A man needed his privacy at times, after all.

And then she was throwing both of her arms around his neck and crying onto his chest. At a loss of what to do he patted her back until she'd stopped.

"Sophie, why are you crying? Do you not like the house?" he asked her.

Sophie pulled away from him and wiped at the tears on her face.

"I love it," she informed him, "it's just all a little much. It overwhelmed me. No one has ever been so kind to me."

It was his turn to stare at her dumbly then. He'd been accused of many things in his lifetime. Kindness had never been one of them. Thoughts of Reza flashed before him and he shut those awful memories away. That had been different.

He reached up to brush a damp curl behind her ear. Didn't she understand? That he must marry her and whisk her away from Paris before she came to her senses and left him? Instead she took his insecurities as kindness. Well no matter. He'd not correct her. Let her think it was born from kindness. It served his needs well enough.

"Where is this place?" she asked him as she rubbed her reddened eyes. One of her arms was still draped about his neck as she sat on his lap at the desk.

"They call the house the Chaeteau de Vignelles. It's located on the edge of a little town called Jouy le Potier… near Orleans. It's a few days ride from Paris. I can be there and back within a week, two at the most if the weather is bad," he surmised.

Sophie nodded and smiled at him.

"Now go and get dressed my dear. We are going to Nadir's home first and then he will escort you home," he advised her.

"Nadir is escorting me home?" she asked him.

Erik nodded and tucked another wayward curl behind her ear. "I had assumed that you would like some time to visit with your family and accustom them to the… news. I'll leave for Orleans tomorrow and settle our affairs. When I return in two weeks time we'll be wed and then we can travel there together. I'll make the arrangements with the Daroga," he explained.

Sophie smiled at him then and all trace of unhappiness left her face. She leaned forward and kissed him lightly, then rose and did as he instructed. Erik watched her retreat to the bedroom, then turned his attention back to the task at hand. He folded the letter and sealed it with a blob of hot red wax.

Erik took up his quill again and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. There was more work to be done for now.

* * *

Erik and Sophie stood just outside of the Daroga's door on the Rue de Rivoli. He reached a hand up to knock, and a moment later the door was swiftly opened. Nadir's manservant Darius bowed and beckoned them in, then backed up to the wall so that the pair could enter.

"Is that them?" the Daroga's voice called out from the sitting room.

Erik led Sophie across the room and into the parlor. He paused at the threshold and watched as she dropped his arm and moved forward embracing the old man and placing a kiss upon the Daroga's cheek. He shoved the spark of jealousy down. This was the Daroga, who had no designs on his Sophie. Still, his hand itched to reach for the punjab that was almost always tucked safely into the hidden pocket within his sleeve. Instead he affected an air of calm indifference as the pair reconnected.

"Oh dear sweet girl, I'm so glad to welcome you to my home. Come and sit, Darius makes the best tea that you will ever have. You must join me," the Daroga invited her as he indicated to the sofa.

Darius slipped quietly from the room.

Erik wanted to roll his eyes. The Daroga had not invited him to come and sit! He did so anyways and chose the seat with the arm on the sofa next to Sophie. His bad mood cleared a little when the Daroga chose his solitary wingback chair in which he perched. Good. The old police chief still had his keen instincts intact if he knew not to encroach upon Erik's freshly claimed territory.

"Your home is lovely," Sophie said to the old man kindly. "I'd love a cup of tea, thank you."

The Daroga nodded and smiled warmly. "I have heard your most exciting news. Congratulations are in order."

Sophie turned and beamed at him and blushed charmingly. Erik nearly startled when her hand reached out and grasped his own. She intended to hold his hand? Here? In front of the Daroga? And then she did just that. Her little hand curled around his and Erik could not stop himself from threading his fingers with hers. He gulped and his eyes flicked to see the Daroga's reaction. The Daroga was grinning as if he was quite pleased with himself, as if the old man had been the mastermind behind all of this. He fought down the snort that threatened to escape him as he glanced at Sophie, who seemed so happy, and then he felt himself softening. There was no need to bruise her happiness just to knock the Daroga down a peg or two.

"When is the wedding?" the Daroga asked them both.

Sophie chewed her lip as she often did when she was worried, or confused, or thinking deeply. She glanced at him for direction and he was satisfied that she was looking to him for guidance.

"In two weeks," Erik answered for them both. "I'm headed south tomorrow to settle some affairs and then upon my return we will be wed. Saturday the twenty-third should give us enough time to have everything in order."

The Daroga looked thoughtful. "Notre Dame is hosting their Spring concert on that date. I've received the invitation just the other day. I'm not certain that it will be available. Perhaps another date?"

Erik snorted rudely. "That abomination with its flying butresses, like a dead animal's rib cage decaying on the ground? Spare me. I was thinking Sainte Chapelle," he announced.

"Ah… a lovely choice… but they are closed to the public for their renovations to the first floor," the Daroga apologized.

Erik fumed at him. "What are you, then? An expert on Parisian churches? How funny… since you are Muslim after all," he joked. Sophie's hand squeezed his and pulled his gaze to her. She was looking at him with a look of exasperation on her face.

He pulled his eyes away from hers and wondered why he felt a little flustered now. Instead of dwelling on it further he reached his free hand into his waistcoat and pulled the heavy purse from within. The Persian caught it deftly.

"All the better, if it is closed to the public. We'll be assured our privacy. I find that a heavy purse can open even the most steadfastly locked door," he muttered. It was the closest that he would come to an apology no matter how hard Sophie squeezed his hand. He risked a glance at her and saw that she seemed mollified.

The Daroga's eyes sparkled with mirth and Erik felt his scowl return.

Darius opened the parlor door and Erik watched as the man entered the room while carrying a tray laden with a silver teapot and three sets of cups and spoons. At Erik's instruction the manservant placed three lumps of sugar in Sophie's tea, then the boy distributed the cups accordingly.

Erik took a sip of the thick hot brew and tried to keep the smile from his face. Darius had always made the best cup of tea that he'd ever drunk. He idly wondered if the servant could be pilfered from the Daroga. He glanced between the two Persian men. Probably not.

Sophie sipped her tea daintily and engaged the Daroga in pleasant conversation.

Erik took the opportunity to watch and study her. He vowed that he'd never get tired of looking at her. She glanced at him and smiled and reached out to squeeze his hand again. Had she asked him something? She seemed to be waiting for some response as she looked at him quizzically.

"What?" he asked, mildly embarrassed to be caught staring at her like that in front of the Daroga.

" _Monsieur_ Khan asked you what business brings you South," she murmured with a ghost of a smile on her face.

"Ah. We are purchasing an estate. Down near Orleans. I'm going to inspect it and assure myself of its condition. My hope is that it can be occupied immediately and the small repairs can be done while living there," he stated matter of factly.

The Daroga seemed surprised. "You're leaving Paris!" the old man exclaimed.

Erik took a sip of tea and swirled the contents in the bottom of the cup. "If my warden allows it," he accused the old man sarcastically, although there was no malice in his voice.

Sophie made a small noise of surprise and then was apologizing to the laughing Daroga.

"Ah, no need to fret on my behalf my child. I'm quite used to Erik's barbed tongue. You have your work cut out for you, I'm afraid. But I believe that I am leaving him in capable hands," the Daroga said sweetly to Sophie.

Erik wanted to roll his eyes at the theatrics. The Daroga could have had a career in the theater if he'd been so inclined. He took another sip of tea and watched as the dregs swirled about in the cup.

" _Monsieur_ Khan, I wanted to ask a favor of you," she implored the Daroga.

Erik's eyes whipped up from his tea cup. Now what was this? She'd made no mention of needing a favor. Why was she asking the Daroga for a favor, and not him?

"What is it, child?" the Daroga asked.

"You know that my father passed when I was little. I had hoped that you might walk me down the aisle in his stead," she requested softly.

Ah! Erik relaxed his grip on the cup. A simple enough request. He eyed the Daroga for the man's response.

"I would be honored, Sophie. But I must ask. You said your mother remarried, did she not? Wouldn't your stepfather typically fulfill that role?" the Daroga queried.

"No!" Sophie shouted abruptly.

Erik's gaze shifted to her and he saw the blush that crept up her neck. He'd known that she was not fond of her drunkard of a stepfather but this reaction to such a simple question seemed more forceful than was necessary. Interesting.

"I mean to say," she demurred, "that he and I are not on the best of terms. I'd prefer it greatly if you escorted me instead."

The Daroga inclined his head and agreed and the conversation shifted back to pleasantries.

Erik swirled the last bits of his tea in his cup and was deep in thought. Did she not intend to bring the stepfather along, then? He'd planned to build a separate addition to the house for his future mother-in-law and her husband to reside in. He didn't particularly care to have so many people underfoot and in his business. But perhaps Sophie had not intended to bring the drunkard along. Interesting. It didn't make one bit of difference to him if the man came or was left behind in Paris.

He set his now empty teacup down and pulled a stack of letters from his pocket. He glanced towards the wall and as his eyes fell upon Darius the servant stepped forward to take the letters from him with a silent bow.

"I trust that you'll have these delivered in my absence," he told the Persian man.

Darius bowed again and returned silently to his place.

What a pity that the man couldn't be poached. Darius had always proved himself to be such a useful, biddable, and above-all silent servant. Erik appreciated all of those qualities.

When he turned his gaze back around he saw Sophie staring at him with a puzzled expression.

"Letters to _Madame_ Giry and the bank and lawyer," he explained. She squeezed his hand and smiled at him in response.

"Nadir, I trust that you'll see Sophie safely home today. Her family must think that she has been here with you, a kindly widower, while her broken leg recovered."

The Daroga nodded and mumbled his agreement.

" _Monsieur_ Khan, if we might have a moment to say goodbye first…" she asked the old man shyly. Sophie's hand found his again and Erik let their fingers intertwine again.

The Daroga laughed and stood. "Come, Darius, I will help you in the kitchen," the old man ordered as he and the manservant gathered up the tea set and left the sitting room.

The french doors closed quietly behind them.

Erik's heart thundered suddenly in his chest as Sophie turned to grasp both of his hands in hers.

"Why does two weeks suddenly feel like forever?" she asked him rhetorically.

He released one of her hands to cup her face. His thumb brushed her rosy cheek and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. She smiled at him in return.

"It will pass quick enough," he murmured. "Sophie, about your stepfather-" he began.

"I don't want him there," she interrupted. "Please…" she said with a strangled voice, "just trust me on this."

Erik placed a kiss along her brow and saw her eyelids flutter closed, "it makes no difference to me. Leave him behind in Paris, if you wish."

She looked up at him then in surprise. "It's unchristian…" she professed weakly.

He shrugged. "I'm sure you have your reasons," he offered.

Sophie's face darkened into a look that he'd never seen before, but then she shook her head and she was looking up at him with tear filled eyes and a melancholy smile. "I'll tell you one day. But not now, I don't want to start that story just before I have to leave you for two weeks," she replied.

He released her other hand and cupped her face and pulled her lips to his in a gentle kiss. He felt her shudder and then she had wrapped her hands around his neck and she was kissing him deeply in return.

Erik savored the taste of her on his tongue and the feel of her under his hands. He'd need the memories of her, and this moment, and their kiss to get them through these two long long weeks. And then after they were married they'd never have to be parted from one another again. His heart fluttered at the thought. _She is mine._

Sophie was the first to break the kiss. She pulled away from him and Erik noticed the flush on her face and the fullness of her well-kissed pink mouth. Her eyes glittered in the lights of the parlor and her half-tamed hair threatened to fall apart from where it was gathered in a knot at the base of her neck. He wanted to throw her skirts up and take her right here on Nadir's couch. Would the men in the other room hear them? He found the thought not entirely unpleasant. Instead of acting on his baser impulse he shoved those thoughts down deep and placed a chaste kiss on his Sophie's lips. There would be time for more games in the future. But right now he needed to focus on the planning and timing of his careful machinations. A lot could go wrong in two weeks.


	23. Chapter 23

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 23

Sophie stared up at the weathered building before her as Monsieur Khan helped her down from the carriage. She let her skirts drop into the dirty streets and tried to keep her embarrassment from her face. Had it always looked like this? Shabby around the edges and just a hair's breadth above impoverished? Or had the building and street deteriorated in her absence? Like an empty room that filled up with cobwebs and dust in its unused state.

Perhaps she was the one who had changed in the two months that she'd been gone. And the building, her home once upon a time, simply looked rougher, and coarser, and smaller now because she was not the same girl that she had been when she'd left it back on that cold, February night.

Monsieur Khan was staring at her curiously now as she took far too long to open a simple door. She felt the panic rising in her and she turned to him to grab his hands and squeeze them gently. She forced her lips into a smile and willed it to look convincing.

"Thank you for seeing me home, monsieur. But I think that I would like to go up alone, if you don't mind," she suggested.

The kind old man smiled at her and placed a kiss on the back of her hand. "Of course, mademoiselle. I'll see you through the outer door at least. Erik will have the date and chapel settled by the time that he returns. I'm quite certain of that. He can be very persuasive, as you well know. Shall I come and pick you up in a fortnight, then?" he asked her.

Sophie wavered, "I think it might be best if we decide that when he returns and everything is settled for sure. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you," she murmured.

"It's not an inconvenience at all, my dear. My carriage is at your disposal in the meantime, should you have need of it. Darius is an excellent driver," the old man offered kindly.

Sophie smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you," she told him gratefully. She nodded up to Darius as well who ducked his head and wouldn't meet her eyes. He seemed a little afraid of her, although she couldn't recall any instance between them which might account for the quiet man's apprehension.

Monsieur Khan tipped his hat at her and bade her a good evening as Sophie pulled open the outer door that led to the stairwell of the multi-family home. She closed it behind her and leaned her weight against it.

The sound of the horse and carriage rattling down the cobbled streets sounded softer and then disappeared as, true to his word, the old Daroga left her to reconnect with her family in private. Sophie leaned against the door and shut her eyes and counted to one hundred as she tried to still her wildly beating heart and ragged breathing.

Now that she was a few flights of stairs away from her family she felt bereft and lost. Her hands started to tremble as she pulled the engagement ring from her finger. Undoing the clasp of the pocketwatch she slipped the ring onto the necklace chain and hooked it back around her neck. Sophie shoved both items underneath her corset and winced as the ring's faceted stones scraped against her. Once she was assured that she had hidden both items from view she reached a hand into her pocket to find her purse.

Foolish! As soon as her hand found the pocket she remembered that she'd sent her purse with its meager collection of coins with Madame Giry when she'd written that first letter to Emma. But her hand closed on something anyways and Sophie pulled an unfamiliar pouch from her pocket. It was an embroidered silk bag with a brass clasp. She'd never seen it before in her life. Where had it come from?

Sophie clicked it open and eyed the treasure trove of small coins within it. None of the coins were so large that they would raise eyebrows if she spent them in the nearby markets. But there was enough to last her for far more than two weeks. Erik must have snuck it into her pocket when she'd hugged him goodbye that last time. She smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. The trembling in her hands stopped. Checking one last time that her ring and pocket watch were well hidden she returned the coin purse to her pocket and fixed her bodice back into place. The dress was much too fine for this neighborhood, but there wasn't anything that she could do about that now.

Reaching out to grab the handle of the outside door Sophie opened it and fled back out into the crisp Parisian twilight. She tried to convince herself that she was simply making the necessary preparations, and that she was not acting like a coward. She almost succeeded.

* * *

Sophie returned to her family home a little while later with her arms laden with a basket of groceries. She tried to convince herself that she was out of breath and that her heart was racing because of the climb up several flights of stairs with the heavy basket. As she stopped at the door she shifted everything in her arms and realized that she did not have the key. It must still be in the pocket of her old dress down in the cavern home below the opera house.

A door opened down the hall and her kindly neighbor emerged and appeared startled as the two women laid their eyes upon each other.

"Sophie!" the old woman exclaimed happily. "It's so good to see you again my dear. Are you back for good, now?"

Sophie shifted the heavy basket of food in her arms and turned so that she could greet the neighbor properly. "Madame Durant," she acknowledged politely with a nod and smile. "Yes I've just returned. How are you doing?"

The old woman was carrying her own heavy basket which she perched on her hip. It looked like laundry. "Me? Oh I'm fine, dear, just fine. And so is Monsieur Durant, although he suffers from the gout, you know. But I should ask you how you're doing. Little Emma told us that you broke your leg and wouldn't be home for a while. Were you recovering at the hospital?"

"Something like that," she confessed. "I was staying with a… friend. I'm better now," she added.

The old woman peered at her and eyed her up and down. "Why I'll say! You're looking better now, that's for sure. That's a lovely dress, my dear. The color suits you well. A friend… huh?" Madame Durant said with a chuckle and a smile. And then the old woman had the gall to wink at her.

Sophie couldn't help the blush that colored her face. She was terrible at this game of subterfuge. The old woman laughed even harder but it was a teasing laugh, and not entirely unkind.

"Emma will be so glad to have you home. Your poor mother too. Goodness knows she's had a hard time of it lately," Madame Durant gossiped.

Sophie looked at the door then turned back to her neighbor. Her feelings of unease returned. "Are they… alright?" she asked with trepidation.

Madame Durant's face fell into something more serious looking. "Oh my dear girl, forgive me. I didn't think… well… you know how your father is…"

"My stepfather," Sophie corrected the woman sharply.

Madame Durant nodded mutely, then made her excuses and fled down the hall to disappear down the stairs. Her footsteps echoed and then faded into silence.

Sophie stared at the woman's retreating figure. She supposed that the neighbor meant well. Sophie certainly did know what her stepfather was like. That's why she was filled with such dread while standing outside in a hallway, staring at a stupid door. Her heart fluttered wildly again as she imagined each possible scenario. Hadn't she been thinking about this very moment for two months? So why did she suddenly feel like she couldn't bring herself to face it without Erik by her side. She'd never relied on someone like that before. Sophie wasn't sure she wanted to make a habit of it either. She screwed her courage to the sticking place and decided.

Sophie raised her hand and knocked. A moment later the door opened and then Emma was standing before her in the sliver of space made between the open door and the frame.

"Sophie!" the little girl screamed in delight. The door opened widely and hit the wall with a bang.

Sophie dropped the basket of food to the floor, forgotten, and fell to her knees as she pulled the little girl into a crushing hug. She kissed the little girl on the head and tucked her into the nook of her chin. It would be alright. No matter what had happened while she'd been gone. She would make it right now.

"Emma, did you get my letters," she asked the little girl.

Emma pulled away from her and nodded, her face beaming. "I sure did! I got them and maman helped me read them. I knew most of the words! And I figured out your clues. Maman said that I am a very clever girl for guessing it," she boasted proudly.

Sophie gripped the girl by the shoulders and regarded her, "you are a very clever little girl. I knew that you would understand. You found it, then?" she questioned her.

"In the marigolds! I know how much you hate the marigolds. So I wondered why you wanted me to take extra special care of them. I poked my fingers in the dirt. I found the money," Emma regaled her proudly with the story.

Sophie peered behind the little girl into the empty living room of their tiny flat.

"Papa isn't home right now," Emma told her, "and maman hasn't been out of bed for weeks."

Sophie glanced back at her sharply, "why hasn't she bed out of bed for weeks?"

Emma's lower lip quivered. "Maman can't get out of bed now because she coughs too much. She's been sick for forever! She tried to go out and find you that night that you left and didn't come back. When she came back home she was sneezing. She's been sick this whole time. Papa gets so angry now, he yells and yells and hits the wall."

Emma bit her lower lip to stop its trembling and threw her tiny arms around Sophie's neck and cried.

"I was so scared," the little girl whimpered.

"I'm so sorry, Emma," Sophie moaned as her eyes watered with unshed tears. "I didn't want to leave you here alone. But I couldn't come back until now. I'm better now, though. And I won't ever leave you alone again," she promised the little girl as she stroked her hair and shoulders.

Sophie patted the little girl on the back and hugged her tightly until the trembling and the tears stopped. Emma pulled away and wiped at her eyes and smiled in a lopsided grin.

"Okay," the little girl mumbled as she rubbed the tears from her eyes.

"Let's go inside," Sophie said warmly, "and I'll make us some dinner."

* * *

After dinner Sophie tucked Emma into the bed and pulled the covers up around the girl's narrow shoulders. Sophie sang three lullabies to her, then told her a story of a little mouse who lived below the Paris opera house. The little mouse wanted to sing just like the singers and dance just like the dancers. But every time the mouse tried to join the chorus girls or ballerinas on the stage they screamed and ran away in fear. So the little mouse sang and danced on stage when the theater was closed and it pretended that the audience was still there to clap and cheer. Emma laughed and told Sophie that the girls were silly for being afraid of a mouse since it was rats that you needed to be afraid of, and not mice. Sophie laughed and agreed with her and watched as the little girl fell asleep.

Once Emma was asleep Sophie shut the door quietly and crossed into a kitchen. She ladled a hearty serving of the soup into a bowl and poured a cup of tea. Placing the meal on a cutting board she carried it into her mother's bedroom.

Her mother looked so frail laying there in bed. The woman's hair fanned out across the white pillow in auburn waves threaded through with gray. The dark purple bags underneath her mother's eyes told Sophie that the last two months had not been kind. The fading bruises and healing split lip told her that her stepfather had been even less kind.

"Sophie?" the frail woman called out to her from the bed. "You're back?"

"Yes, mother," Sophie reassured her for the third time that evening. "I'm back. Here, I made you some soup. You should try to eat a little."

The old woman coughed and Sophie shuddered at the rattling sound. That didn't sound good. She set the makeshift tray down on the nightstand and helped her mother into a sitting position. She fluffed the pillows and helped prop the frail woman up.

"You're real? I imagined you returning so many times. The fever made the dreams so real…" her mother insisted.

"It's me. I'm really here. Now eat some soup. You'll feel a little better in the morning," Sophie coaxed.

Spoonful by spoonful she fed her mother until the soup was gone. And then she helped the woman hold the handkerchief up as her mother coughed up great globs of yellow mucus.

"There, see? The broth and tea has loosened it. Cough it up," Sophie coached her as she clapped the frail old woman on the back to help knock it loose.

When her mother had finished coughing Sophie helped her to lie back down in bed.

"Sophie, I'm so sorry. I failed you in so many ways," her mother confessed between rattling breaths.

Sophie's eyes shifted to the bare wall as she looked away, lost in thought. She'd heard it all before.

"You would be proud of me," her mother told her.

Sophie's eyes cut towards the woman.

"I never let him touch her. I yelled at him. But he never hit Emma. I wouldn't let him. I knew that if you came back and saw bruises on her that you would take her away and leave us."

Sophie looked down at her frail, sick, battered mother and felt the stirrings of pity once again. She felt hope blooming in her chest and she tried to stamp it down before it could take root. She'd heard it all before. But the evidence was clear this time and it fostered the stirrings of hope. Her mother had protected Emma… when she had not protected Sophie. Better late than never, Sophie thought wryly before she could feel sorry for herself.

"Shh…" she hushed her mother as she stroked the woman's graying hair, "you'll feel better in the morning."

Her mother closed her eyes and slept as Sophie stroked her hair, careful to avoid the tender bruises along the side of her mother's face.

* * *

The slamming of the front door and the thudding of boot steps roused Sophie from where she had fallen asleep in the chair at her mother's bedside. Loud sounds and grunts sounded from the main part of the apartment. Something thudded heavily to the floor.

Sophie's hands weren't shaking now. Let's get this over with, she thought. A stillness settled over her as she crossed the room and opened the door. And there he was in all of his drunken glory. Jacques was swaying where he stood as he pulled his other muddy boot off and dropped it loudly to the floor to join its other half. The mud splattered and Sophie closed her eyes and counted to three. Another thing to clean. She added it to her list. She closed the door behind her softly and waited until he had noticed her.

Jacque's head tilted and then he was staring at her as a grin split his face into a creepy smile. He held a hand up and pointed one finger directly at her.

"You! I knew… I knew yous'd come back," he drawled as he swayed. How drunk was he that he couldn't even keep his balance? And where had he found the money to get this drunk?

"Of course I came back. Did you think that I'd leave Emma or my mother to your care?" she retorted.

He continued to point at her as he laughed, as if she'd told some great joke. "I knew yous'd come back… because you can't ever leave us. You like it. Even when you say you don't. I know it," Jacques said as he patted his forehead, as if to show her where he kept his thoughts.

Sophie said nothing as she watched him stagger about the room, tracking mud across the floor in his socks.

"Where were you hidin'?" he asked her as he tottered in place. He groaned and held his head. "And why is the room spinnin'? Make it stop, Sophie, I don't like it."

Sophie took a deep breath and crossed the room to where he stood. She helped him pull his arms out of his jacket, then steered him to her bedroom.

"To bed with you, you're smashed," she ordered.

"Where are we going? This isn't my room," he complained loudly as she steered him through the apartment.

"You're sleeping in my bed tonight. Mother and Emma and asleep and I don't want you to disturb them with your snoring," she scolded him.

He craned his head back to leer at her suggestively as she helped him collapse into her bed.

"Well, you don't have to tell me twice," he mumbled as he made to undo the button of his pants.

"Go to sleep," she told him sternly, unable to keep the tinge of disgust from her voice. He wouldn't remember any of this in the morning anyways. He never did. He was snoring loudly, his pants still on and his belt half done, by the time she crossed the threshold.

Sophie closed her bedroom door and surveyed the damage to the room. She moaned and twisted her hair into a tight knot at the back of her head. Rolling her sleeves up to the elbow, she got to work.

An hour later after the floors were scrubbed and his boots were cleaned and set out by the door. And then she tiptoed into Emma's bedroom and set a chair by the door, tilting it under the doorknob so that the door was locked. It wouldn't stop a real intruder, but it would make enough noise to give her ample warning. Sophie collapsed into Emma's bed and fell asleep, still clothed and corseted and utterly exhausted, with the little girl nestled in her arms.

* * *

Contrary to what Sophie had told her mother, the old woman did not sound or feel any better in the morning. Sophie made a thick porridge and sweetened it with cream and honey.

She helped her mother eat, then helped her cough into a handkerchief again. Her efforts were rewarded with more thick globs of yellow mucus.

Sophie folded the dirtied handkerchief in on itself and added it to the laundry pile.

* * *

"Tell me another story," Emma demanded one bright, sunny morning.

Sophie paused in her gardening to look at the little girl who was helping her snap dead buds and leaves from the flowers in the glass house garden.

A week had passed by in a blur as Sophie settled into routines that she'd thought she had forgotten. The muscles in her back ached pleasantly. She'd grown soft in just two months. But it was nothing that a little gardening couldn't fix right back up.

"What story would you like me to tell you?" she asked the little girl.

"Tell me more about the mouse," the child demanded.

"The mouse?" Sophie asked, confused.

"The one who sings opera and makes the ballerinas shriek," the little girl added as she rolled her eyes in a dramatic display of impatience.

Sophie settled back onto her ankles as she kneeled before her rows of roses and thought for a moment.

"The lonely little mouse-" she began.

"-Who loved opera and dancing and made the ballerinas shriek," Emma interrupted.

"The lonely little mouse who loved opera and dancing and made ballerinas shriek whenever he appeared… fell in love one day. It was quite by accident. You see, two mean, nasty rats were chasing another little mouse around the opera house. She fell through a hole in the opera stage and hurt her leg. The lonely little mouse chased the big, nasty rats away. All of his years watching operas had taught him how to pretend to be scary. And the rats were quite afraid of him and ran as far away as they could get," Sophie added.

Emma stared at her in amazement with wide, brown eyes. "The little mouse is like you! She hurt her leg too,"

Sophie smiled at the little girl and nodded, then snapped another dead head from the red rose bush in front of her.

"The lonely little mouse was glad to have the hurt mouse's company. He helped her fix her leg. And he put on plays and operas and sang and danced for her whenever she was sad," Sophie continued.

"Why was the girl mouse sad?" Emma asked.

"She missed her family, of course. The opera house is very lonely for little mice. The ballerinas will not dance with them and the chorus girls will not sing with them because they are all afraid of mice," she rationalized.

Emma nodded as if it made perfect sense.

"So the lonely little mouse was less lonely now, because he had a mouse friend to love and sing operas with and dance with," Sophie added.

Emma grinned in reply and reached out and snapped a healthy rose off of the bush in front of them.

Sophie made to chastise her before she realized how foolish she was being. They'd be gone in another week. She'd be a married woman, and they'd run far away from the harsh reality of Paris and Jacque's volatile temper. The glass house garden would go wild with nobody to care for it, until it all eventually withered in its neglect. The roses would die anyways. So what did it matter if Emma plucked every single rose from the bush?

Sophie herself snapped a smaller rose off of the bush, then removed every thorn and leaf from its stem. She tucked it into Emma's braid and smiled when the little girl giggled in delight.

"What happened next? To the two little mice?" the little girl questioned her.

"They decided to leave the opera house all together. They were tired of screaming ballerinas and shrieking chorus girls. So together they found a nice, quiet home in the country where the barn cat was very, very fat and couldn't chase them. They ate the food that the careless farmer's wife spilled on the floor and they chewed up a hole in the baseboard and made their home inside of the walls. The two little mice put on their own operas and sang and danced as much as they wanted, and then they were quite happy."

Emma giggled. "I like that the barn cat is too fat to chase them."

Sophie smiled down at Emma. "Me too," she agreed.

* * *

"Tell me about this man of yours," her mother said abruptly between coughing fits one afternoon.

Sophie's hands rattled the tray that they were holding as she tried to quickly regain her composure. She set it down on the bedside table more forcefully than was necessary.

"What man?" Sophie lied poorly.

Her mother chuckled. "A woman can tell when another woman is in love. Tell me about him," the old woman probed gently.

Sophie fell into the chair beside the bed and felt the air leave her lungs. Was she so transparent? She was quiet for a while as she gathered her thoughts and courage.

"He's kind, although he pretends that he is not. And he's so talented. I've never seen someone be so brilliant before. Everything he touches turns to gold. Music, paintings, singing… I don't know if there's something that he couldn't do if he put his mind to it."

Her mother nodded sympathetically. "He sounds just like your father," she added.

Her mother's voice was weak. When had her mother become such an old woman? Was it so slow that Sophie hadn't noticed it, or had her absence in the last two months been the catalyst?

"I don't remember father much," Sophie admitted. "I remember that he loved his flowers. That we fixed the glasshouse together and that he taught me how to plant tulips and prune roses. And I remember visiting him in the hospital when he was sick… but I can't even remember what his face looked like anymore."

She let her gaze fall to her hands in her lap. Her fingers played with the fabric of her dress.

"Your father was the love of my life," her mother recollected. "He was so charming and sweet. None of the other girls saw his worth. He wasn't handsome or wealthy enough for them. But I knew that his soul was pure. He used to write me the longest love letters and poems. He fancied himself as becoming a great poet one day. That's how we met, at a book shop. We were both trying to buy the same book of poetry. He wasn't any good, but I never told him that. I loved his poems anyways. He took the job at the factory when I got pregnant with you. We married and his family helped us get our own little flat. It was tiny, but we were in love with each other and then with you, so it was wonderful."

Sophie smiled and looked at her mother as the frail woman recalled the stories of her and her father's childhood. There was a light behind the old woman's eyes that Sophie couldn't recall ever seeing before.

"We get one chance at love in this life, Sophie, make it count. Savor every moment. Even when you're fighting and you're so mad at each other that you want to drown them in the river. Don't end up a broken woman like me," her mother told her.

Sophie reached a hand out and picked up her mother's frail, thin hand. When did the skin on her mother's hand get so thin? The nail beds so pale? Her mother had lost so much weight in just two months. She was a shell of a woman now.

"You shouldn't say things like that. There's… there's always time to change things. I'd help you… if you wanted it. We can go away from here… where Jacques can't find us," she offered timidly.

"Leave him? I… I don't think that I could. I was never as strong as you. My brave Sophie," her mother whimpered as she patted Sophie's hand. "How did my little Sophie get so brave and strong?"

Sophie stared at their hands as their fingers intertwined on the bed. Her mother's coughing fit made her look at the woman again. "You could try… for once... and I would help you," she whispered. She tried to keep the anger from her voice.

Her mother coughed again and took the fresh handkerchief when sophie handed it to her. The woman held it to her mouth until the fit passed.

"It's far too late for an old woman like me to change," her mother admitted. "I've made my bed and now I must lie in it. But you don't have to make my mistakes. You should take Emma and go. She won't be safe here much longer."

Sophie shook her head and forced the tears away. She would not show weakness and cry right now. "I can take you both with me. It doesn't have to be one or the other. There will be room enough for both of you," she reasoned.

Her mother's fingers sought out her hand again and squeezed it. "Promise me one thing," the old woman begged her.

Sophie took a deep breath. "What is it?" she asked. She wasn't sure that she wanted to know.

Her mother rose up slightly from the bed and ignored Sophie's protests. "When I die, Sophie, promise me that you'll do what I couldn't do. You'll leave this place and take her with you. You'll tell your young man the truth, all of it, and beg his forgiveness, and then you can be a family together with God's blessing."

Sophie felt the hope withering in her chest. "Forgiveness? I didn't do anything wrong…" she protested weakly.

"God knows what happened. It can't be denied. We must ask forgiveness for our sins and pray for guidance. The lily of love can not bloom in a bed of lies. They strangle it like weeds," her mother berated her. And then her mother coughed again. The fit lasted longer this time and took what little energy the old woman had to spare.

"Don't talk of dying, mother. I can't handle it right now," Sophie whispered. She wanted to sob and scream and pull at her hair. She wanted to run far away and never come back. She wanted to stay, and help her mother get better.

"Promise me," the old woman demanded relentlessly.

Sophie looked at her frail, sick mother and felt the war of emotions as they raged within her. Disgust, love, pity, hope, a little hatred, and a lot of fear. Fear that her mother really was dying. And fear that she was a terrible person for wanting it to hurry up and happen so that she could finally be free of it all. Her mother had been weak. The old woman had sacrificed her daughter out of loneliness and fear. Sophie wondered why she didn't love her mother more, and she wondered why she loved her mother as much as she did.

"Promise me," her mother repeated, less forcefully this time. The woman's dying wish?

Sophie leaned forward and placed a kiss against her mother's brow. "I promise," she whispered against the old woman's forehead.

"Thank you. I'm so very tired. I'm going to rest now," her mother said as she closed her eyes. The old woman's breathing was labored in her sleep.

Sophie unfolded the handkerchief and as she looked down at her lap she saw that the mucus was blood tinged now with little specks of black.

* * *

Sophie stared at the golden pocketwatch in her hands as she curled around Emma's sleeping body.

Friday, April 21st, 1882. Two minutes past eleven o'clock in the evening.

At this time tomorrow she would be a married woman and Sophie, Emma, and her dying mother would be traveling far away from this stinking, filthy Hell called Paris.

Sophie clicked the pocket watch shut and hugged Emma to her chest. The doorknob rattled weakly, but the chair held fast and sophie pulled the covers over both of their heads and tried to sleep.

* * *

Saturday dawned gloomy and despondent and hadn't gotten much better as the day had progressed. Storm clouds shut out all light and the heavens opened as rain poured down and soaked the Earth. The rain was relentless and lasted all day long. Sophie stood at the window and stared out at the weak light that the gas street lamps cast. Their glow was barely enough to see two feet in front of your face in this storm.

Jacques banged around in the kitchen as he muttered to himself. Emma was curled up with mother in the storm.

"It's not in the kitchen," she called out to him.

Another cupboard door slammed shut in reply.

"Are we ever going to talk about the fact that my mother is dying?" she asked point blank. She had no patience today to beat around the bush.

The rummaging stopped finally. Jacques padded over to her and stood next to her at the window.

"She's been dying for a while, now," he replied nonchalantly. "I didn't think you'd care to speak of it since you didn't mention it 'till now."

Sophie turned to look at him, her eyes wide in surprise.

"Did you ever, even once, consider getting a doctor before her cold turned into pneumonia?"

Her stepfather shrugged nonchalantly, "we didn't have the money for a doctor. Besides, they're all quacks anyways. They take your money and fill your head with lies and then you either get better or worse, all on your own. I don't see the point of doctors."

"You found the money to drink your precious gin. You could have spared a few coins for a doctor," she said harshly.

He shrugged again. "I doubt it would have made much difference even if she'd seen a doctor. She'll either get better… or she won't."

"You never even tried," she accused him. "How can you care so little for your own wife?"

Jacques grinned at her and scratched his head. "Where'd you hide it, love? C'mon, give papa a drink. I need it… to deal with the horribleness of my dying wife."

Sophie stared at him and saw the weak little boy hiding behind the angry, bitter man. She wanted to tell him off. To tell him that he'd never touch her again, that he'd never raise a fist to her or Emma, or that she'd never give him another coin for that rotgut gin that had ruined all of their lives. She burned to tell him how much she despised and hated both him and her weak, dying mother. Prayers had never made Jacques stop drinking or beating them. God hadn't kept them safe from his angry fists. She itched to hint that she and Emma would be long gone without a trace before his thick, stupid mind could put two and two together. She shoved her hatred down and bottled it up tight until no trace of it remained on the surface of her face.

"It's in the linen closet under the quilt," she said instead.

He grinned at her and grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her on the mouth before she could stop him.

"I knew you truly cared about your dear old papa. You always know just what I need Sophie-girl," he said when he'd released her.

Sophie stared at him in horror as he left to find his liquor. Once he'd disappeared from view with the gin bottle in hand she made her retreat as well. She turned and walked to her mother's room where Emma was curled up with her mother as they read the bible.

Sophie vowed to leave that very instance. She would take Emma's hand and put their coats on them. Damn the rain. Damn her mother. And most of all, damn Jacques. They would leave tonight, even if they had to swim.

The door creaked as it opened and Sophie stared into the room at a different kind of horror. Emma was curled around her mother's failing, dying body. Her mother's breathing was deep and ragged now and she could hear it as it rattled even from where she stood across the room. With each pause between breaths Sophie wondered which one would be her last. But her struggling, dying mother's chest would shudder and the old woman would take another ragged breath. It wouldn't be long now, then. It could be minutes, or hours. A day at the most.

Emma crawled from the bed and sought Sophie's arms and together they both sank to the floor.

How could she think of leaving now? Surely just one more day. One more day wouldn't make a difference. Her mother would die. Sophie would hold her hand so that the woman wouldn't die alone, confused, and scared. No one deserved to have a drunken, stumbling Jacques as the last thing they saw in life. Her mother would die, and then Sophie would bundle Emma up and they'd run.

* * *

But her mother didn't die the next day, or even the next one after that. The old woman settled into a pattern of improvement and deterioration. Sophie trickled water from a piece of cloth into the woman's cracked and bleeding lips when her mother begged for something to drink. She was so very thirsty, but the water made her just as ill. Sophie didn't know what was more cruel: to continue to give her mother water and clean her when she retched, or to deny her and listen to her mother's pleading cries for mercy.

Her mother was too weak to even make it to the chamber pot anymore. Sophie cleaned and bathed her and changed the linens when she messed herself, then did the washing at night while everyone slept. Her hands were raw from all the lye. The chapped skin was cracked and bleeding, just like her dying mother's mouth.

Emma couldn't bear to see it all, so Sophie settled the little girl in the other bedroom and brought her food and took her chamber pot away as well.

At night Sophie held Emma against her while the little girl cried.

* * *

Days turned into a week, and then one week turned into two as Sophie watched her mother as the old woman slowly died. She wished for her mother to hurry it up, and then she was ashamed at herself for her selfishness. When her mother vomited now, Sophie did too.

It happened one day when Sophie was carrying the chamber pot away for cleaning. The smell overcame her quite forcefully and she had only a moment's notice before she was emptying the meager contents of her stomach against the alley's wall.

Sophie sat in the dirt and cried and wiped her sour mouth with the back of her hand.

That never happened. Sophie had such a cast iron stomach. She was hardly ever sick. And even when she had some stomach illness and knew that she would be sick she typically had a few moments to prepare for it. She didn't just vomit in alleys with no warning.

Sophie leaned her head back and stared up at the twinkling stars in the sky. The moon was full and bright enough for her to see the outlines of the ivy that was growing up one side of the building.

The moon was full.

Something clicked into place at that thought. Sophie grasped at it before it could disappear from her in her fatigue, and sorrow, and frustration.

Sophie counted backwards and considered when she'd had her last bleed. Her hand dropped to the ground. It had been five, no six weeks ago. She held up her fingers and counted off the weeks that she'd been home. How had she been home for four weeks already? Was she really so overdue?

Sophie realized in that moment that she was laughed like a mad woman, then hugged her knees to her chest and sobbed into her skirts.

* * *

Sophie's mother died that night. The woman passed away sometime in the middle of the night. After weeks of waiting and watching for the woman to die her mother had finally done it when no one was looking. Sophie, who had taken to sleeping in the chair beside the woman's bed so that she could hold the woman's hand, hadn't even heard it. She discovered it when she awakened to the bright rays of dawn as light streamed through the window.

Her mother's hand was cold and stiff. She'd taken her last breath sometime in the night while Sophie slept.

Sophie closed the woman's dull, unseeing eyes and kissed her mother goodbye on the forehead.

It was time to leave now.

* * *

Sophie stood outside of Monsieur's Khan's house on the Rue de Rivoli. She knocked on the door and waited.

"Sophie, whose house is this? And why are we here when maman is dead? Shouldn't we be going to a church so that we can put her in the ground?" Emma asked with sad, glassy eyes.

Sophie looked down at her and tried not to cry at the sight of Emma so distraught. "A friend of mine lives here. We will bury maman… but there is something that I must do first."

Emma nodded mutely and put on a brave face.

Sophie squeezed her hand reassuringly, then looked back up as the door opened.

The manservant opened the door and his eyes widened before he dropped his gaze. The Persian man backed up and let them enter.

"Who is there?" Monsieur Khan called out from the sitting room.

She saw the door swing shut beside them and led Emma into the sitting room. She set their heavy suitcase down upon the floor.

"Sophie?" the kind old man said loudly. "What are you doing here?"

She paused, suddenly unsure of herself. Were they… not welcome here? She wanted to cry. She wasn't sure that they had anywhere else to go. He must have seen the distress on her face because he softened and ushered them inside the parlor. She watched as he turned his attention to Emma.

"And who is this enchanting young lady?" he asked.

"This is Emma," Sophie explained, although she knew that it was no real explanation at all.

Emma curtsied as well as she could with one hand grasping Sophie's hand and the other holding onto her ragged, stuffed toy bear.

"Darius, take this charming young lady into the kitchen and feed her as many cookies as she can bear to eat," he ordered.

Emma looked up at Sophie, who nodded in approval.

"Can I have some milk, too?" the little girl asked suddenly. "I like my cookies with milk," she said shyly.

Monsieur Khan smiled at her and bowed. "Your wish is my command, mademoiselle. Darius, she will have some milk with her cookies. And please do bring us a pot of tea. Miss Sophie here looks like she is parched. Nothing is quite as bolstering as a good cup of Darius' tea."

Darius stepped forward then and took Emma from her side. Sophie nodded at her and tried her best to smile reassuringly.

"Come, miss Emma, do you like ones with raisins?" Darius asked the little girl in a quiet voice.

Sophie's head whipped around to look at them as they left the room. She'd never heard Darius speak before. She almost missed Emma's rude remark that the little girl certainly did not like ones with raisins at all.

"Be good, Emma," Sophie called out after the pair of them as they disappeared behind a door. And then she was left alone with Monsieur Khan who was staring at her with such a worried expression.

He stepped forward and grasped her by the elbow as he led her to the sofa where she'd once sat with Erik. It was… what… a month ago? It felt like yesterday and an eternity all at once.

Sophie sat and stared at her hands as the shock of the last four weeks caught up with her. It had all been a steady stream of broth and linens and chairs under doorknobs. She had not had a moment to process it all. That her mother was well and truly gone, now. She was relieved and ashamed all at the same time, and she felt like there was a hole in her heart that she hadn't known the woman had filled until it was removed. Their relationship had been difficult and strained, to say the least.

Darius returned briefly to set down a tray with tea and cookies between them and then as quickly as he'd arrived he left to return to the kitchen where Emma sat humming some little tune.

The kind, sweet, old Daroga let her pour herself a cup of tea before he asked her anything. She stirred three lumps of sugars into it, then drained the cup in one gulp. Nevermind that it was hot and burned her throat. She made to fill it up again when he placed his hand on hers and drew it away.

"My dear, you are distressed. Tell me what happened," he asked her gently.

And then she told him everything. How she'd returned to find her mother dying. How she'd cared for her. How she'd had to stay to protect Emma from her stepfather. How she'd felt that she couldn't leave the house because she was afraid that her mother would die alone, and confused, and scared if she was gone for more than a few minutes at a time. How her stepfather had refused to get her mother a doctor, and how she'd arrived home far too late to save her.

He shifted spots from the wingback chair to the place on the sofa next to her. When his hand reached out to gently stroke her shoulders she let all of the frustrations go and leaned forward so that she could sob into his shoulder.

He stroked and patted her and murmured nonsense until she couldn't find anymore tears to shed. He released her then and she sat up straight and rubbed at her face.

"How… how is Erik?" she asked timidly, afraid of the answer.

Monsieur Khan's face paled.

Sophie felt her lower lip trembling and she tried to stop the tears that were forming.

"He came here two weeks ago, ranting and raving about things which I won't repeat in the company of a lady. I offered to drive him to your house and mediate between you two. It was raining dreadfully that night and he was sopping wet, dripping water all over my Persian rugs. He said that there was no need and that he'd return to his Hell and simply wait to die."

Sophie felt the bile rising in her now dry throat. Her face blanched. "Excuse me," she murmured politely as she grabbed the nearest object, a porcelain dish with dried, fragrant flower petals in the cavity. She turned it over, tipping its contents out onto the floor, then vomited into it violently. It burned her throat just as much on its return.

"My dear… you're ill. Let me send Darius to fetch a doctor for you," he offered kindly. Sophie shook her head and wiped her mouth. She set the offending dish aside and covered it with a napkin.

"No need," she told him, "it isn't catching. I'll be fine... in about eight months or so." She laughed at her private joke then even though what she really felt like was crying.

"Ah… I see…" he said tactfully.

They sat in silence then as Sophie wondered if having another cup of tea would simply produce similar results.

"My Rookheeya was also ill just like that when she was carrying our son Reza," he inferred.

Sophie nodded absently.

"Monsieur I need to ask another favor of you," she implored him.

He met her gaze levelly. "Anything," he replied.

Sophie understood in that moment that the Persian was an honorable man who word was law in his household. If he offered her carte blanche, then she was certain that it was sincere.

"I'd like you to watch after Emma. Just for a little while. I must go speak with Erik, but I dare not spring her upon him without warning. I know that he does not like… surprises," she said and winced.

He nodded. "Of course. I'll have Darius drive you. And I will stay with Emma," he replied.

Sophie heaved a sigh of relief and nodded.

"My dear… I must warn you… that a woman in your state should not be exposed to certain… things. Please be careful. Erik was… beyond reasoning with. I would not even let you go, except I think that you are the only person who he will not kill on sight if he is in one of his black mood again. Or you must also face the reality that he may have… succeeded in his threat this time," he added gravely.

Sophie nodded. "I'm not afraid," she whispered. And she realized that she meant it. "And if Erik is dead then I will bury two of the people who I love tomorrow. Could you make the arrangements for me while I am gone? For my mother."

The Persian nodded. "Darius!" he called out.

The manservant was there a moment later.

"Ah, yes, thank you. You will drive miss Sophie to the palais Garnier and wait for her for there for however long her visit takes."

Darius nodded and then disappeared again.

"Where are you going, Sophie?" Emma called out as she wandered from the kitchen and into the sitting room.

"I have to go and speak to someone. His name is Erik. You should wait for me here, with Monsieur Khan. If you ask him very nicely he might just tell you a very funny story about his adventures with a rude camel in Egypt," she told the little girl as Emma settled onto the sofa next to her.

"But you promised me that you'd never leave me again," she little girl whispered in a quiet, sad voice.

Sophie smiled as best as she could and kissed the young girl on the forehead. "It's just for a little while. I'll be back before you wake up in the morning."

"Okay," Emma mumbled. "You have to take me to the church tomorrow. Remember? You said we'd bury maman with lots of pretty flowers."

Sophie nodded gravely and cupped the girl's face. "I will remember."

Darius returned then and was ushering Sophie out of the house. She cast one last look at Emma and the Persian. The manservant opened the front door and she heard the pair in the sitting room speaking.

"Are all camels rude?" the little girl asked.

"Well, in my experience, yes. But this one, in particular, was most disagreeable," he answered her.

And then Sophie was walking down the staircase and stepping into Nadir's waiting carriage. She didn't look back again.

* * *

It was dark now as Sophie stood outside the secret entrance of the Opera Populaire. It took her twenty minutes to find the right pebble Embedded in the crack in the stone wall. The mechanism opened and Sophie, with Darius' help, forced the heavy stone slab wide. The kerosene torch was in the iron sconce, unlit of course. Sophie looked at it in bewildered confusion as she realized that she had no way to light in.

Darius tapped her on the elbow. She turned and saw him hold out a book of matches.

"Thank you," she murmured as she took the matches from him and lit the torch. It flared to life and lit the area around her. She picked it up and gathered her skirts up above her ankles as Darius closed the stone wall behind her. It clicked closed so faintly that she barely even heard it shut.

There was no where to go but down now.

Sophie took the stairs down one at a time. Her skirts brushed against the narrow stone walls as she made her way down.

It took her maybe twenty minutes to make the descent but the repetitious flight of stairs felt never ending. At last she came to the bottom. She hadn't remembered seeing this stone slab. Where was the mirror? Was the rock face covering it? Erik had mentioned that he made this entrance difficult because it was so direct. She set the torch in the iron hook and let her fingers feel around for the hidden mechanism that opened the passage into the cavern. Finally her finger found a crevice that was deep enough for a slender finger. She found the hidden bit of metal and pressed.

A slot opened in the wall and Sophie groaned when she figured out the trick. The heavy stone slab must be pushed into the wall. Even now, with just a crack, she could see the glint of the two-way mirror. Sophie dug her callused fingers into the crack in the wall and pried it open. When it budged an inch or two she set her palm against it and used all of her strength to shove the heavy hidden door into its slot. The mechanism on the mirror was easier. It swiveled open on its pin and she stepped through.

Sophie was not prepared for the sight that greeted her.

There was hardly any candlelight left in the cavern. Most of the long tapered white candles had burned down to their stubs and gone out. The ones that were left were dripping wax haphazardly onto the floors. The gilded mirrors that were just mirrors and that had decorated every nook and cranny were all shattered. Their broken glass fragments were strewn all about the floor.

She gasped as the turned around and surveyed the damage. Erik's workbench had obviously borne the brunt of the damage. The piles of books had been scattered about. Pages from the ripped up books and sheets of music were thrown about. Sophie held her hand up to her mouth to stifle the sob that threatened to escape as she took in all of the damage.

Her home of the last two months had been be destroyed.

"Erik?" she called out softly. Her voice echoed in the cavern.

She turned about to see if he was there but the cavern appeared to be empty. Had he gone out? Or had he drowned himself in the lake? Sophie shuddered at the thought and turned away from the lake. She'd search the cave thoroughly, first. If he was somewhere under the smooth, glassy water there wasn't anything that she could have done about it now anyways. It was best not to dwell on that premature thought.

Her bedroom was first, although she doubted that he would be there. In a bizarre juxtaposition of the wreckage of the cave, Sophie discovered that her bedroom alcove was completely untouched. A thin layer of dust coated every flat surface. Had she really been gone long enough for dust to settle in her absence? She let the curtain drop down behind her as she returned to the main cavern. Only the carefully constructed automatons were completely untouched here. The rest of his possessions had been destroyed in a fit of rage. Sophie found his collection of masks under an overturned piece of furniture. They were unharmed, despite where she'd found them. He would not have left without his masks. He was here, somewhere, although she was not certain where, or in what condition she would find him.

"Erik?" she called out again, louder this time. There was still no reply except for her own echoing voice.

She searched the rest of the cavern but found it similarly abandoned. The dining room, the sitting area, the bathroom, the kitchen, the shore of the underground lake. Sophie spun around in a slow circle as she considered her next course of action and her eyes settled on the locked door that had taken up so many of her thoughts once upon a time.

Of course. The locked door. She'd once thought that it was the exit to the world above. But now she knew better. Sophie made her way carefully over to the pile of books. She sorted through them until she found the one that she needed. Le Mort D'Arthur. She shivered at the gruesome title and hoped it was not a foreboding sign of things to come.

Sophie opened the book with trembling hands and breathed a sigh of relief when she found the key still hidden within its secret compartment.

With the key in her hand she made her way over to the well concealed door. The key fit into the lock snugly and she felt the complicated mechanisms moving as she turned it. Placing a hand on the rock wall door she pushed it open. It was heavy but she managed it.

She forgot to breathe when she saw what lay inside the room. In the middle of the room there was a casket. The dark ebony wood was polished to a high shine finish and it reflected her face back to her as she approached it slowly. She looked pale and the skin under her eyes was bruised and thin from lack of sleep.

Sophie stepped forward, drawn to the casket like a moth to the flame. She stepped up next to it and peered down. And there was her Erik, laying inside of it, pale and maskless. His fine dark hair was gone. Wisps of dark blonde hair covered parts of his scalp in its place. Sophie could see the rest of deformity now as she approached him in the casket. Her legs trembled, and not trusting them to hold her in this state, she lowered herself to her knees and reached her hand out to his. It was cool to her touch. Unable to stop the sob that wracked her frame she let herself grieve. After all, there was no one to hear her now in this tomb of a cavern.

"Oh, Erik," she moaned softly between her cries. She sobbed raggedly as she kneeled by Erik's coffin. The lacquered wood was cold under her forehead as she pressed her face against it and let herself mourn.

Erik's hand tightened on her own and Sophie's head shot up. Their eyes met as he sat up in the coffin.

Sophie wanted to scream but found her voice dying in her throat before she could make a single sound. Instead, her eyes rolled back into her head and she fainted.


	24. Chapter 24

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 24

Erik's eyes flew open in surprise as he tried to focus his eyes. He was so very tired. What had awakened him? He powered through the hazy fog of morphine as his eyes cracked open and he scanned the room for intruders.

And there she was. His Sophie. But she was crying this time? The morphine must be causing him to hallucinate now. And she was such a vivid and lovely mirage, even in her grief. The morphine had never done that to him before, not like the opium that he'd been introduced to back in the Shah's court in Mazandaran. That awful drug had tormented him with nightmares that would make even the fiercest devil cry. The morphine was much kinder, and far easier to find here in the shadier parts of Paris.

He wanted to reach out and console her; to tell her that he didn't want her to despair. That he'd withdraw without being asked, and leave her to her sunshine, and her happiness, and the warmth of her lover's arms. He'd keep the shadows and the misery to himself. And he'd even try to be happy for her until the morphine finally ended his misery one day when he mixed too much by accident, or forgot to eat or drink in his drugged up stupor.

She was clutching his hand so tightly in her grief as she pressed her forehead to his bed and cried.

Erik's mind felt sluggish and stupid as he considered that thought.

Visions don't touch. Mirages can't be touched in return. But her hand felt soft and warm on top of his.

Erik sat up abruptly and watched her as she raised her head and looked at him in terror before she slid sideways to the floor and collapsed where she had knelt.

Sophie was real. She was real and right there in his bedroom. And she'd just fainted at the sight of him.

Erik ran a hand through what little hair he had on his head and he grimaced. He cursed himself for being such a fool. Now, where exactly had he left that damned mask and wig?

* * *

Erik carried Sophie into her bedroom and laid her on the dusty bed. He checked his mask and wig again for the third time to ensure that it was all in order while he watched her as she stirred and awakened.

Her eyelashes fluttered and then she was staring back at him. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched her silently. Suddenly he felt like he had nothing to say. All of his rages and speeches and lectures had left him. All of his harsh words for her seemed futile now.

She'd left him. So then why had she suddenly returned? Erik dropped his gaze and glanced down at her hands.

Ah. To return the ring, of course. It wasn't even on her finger anymore. How long had she waited before she'd taken it off and decided to never return to him? It all made sense now. Erik felt his fragile heart hardening towards her again. Another bride come back to reject him and return the ring again.

"Erik?" she said faintly, as if she cared for him.

Sophie reached a hand up towards his face but he was done with innocent looking angels ripping off his mask to expose the monster underneath for their own pleasure, or displeasure. He grabbed her by the wrist and held her firmly. She winced. The expression of disbelief and hurt on her face filled him with shame and made him drop her wrist as if her touch had burned him.

"Hello, Sophie," he said calmly. He would not make this harder on her than it had to be. He would let her say her script and watch her leave. He would not beg for her to stay, or shame himself any further than he'd already done.

"You… you're alive?" she asked in a strange voice that sounded a lot like relief.

"Yes, as you can see, I am alive," he replied. He wanted to add the words _for now,_ or _although you might have hoped otherwise_ , but he'd sworn to himself to make this easier on her, and not harder, and so he kept his sarcastic barbs to himself.

Sophie started to cry again. Fat tears rolled down her face and then she was scrambling up to a sitting position and throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him like she still loved him.

He was startled, to say the least, but he felt his resolve fading as she kissed him between her ragged sobs.

What a talented actress she was to make Erik believe her sincerity with her kisses.

Sophie pulled back from him. "I saw you laying there in that coffin and I feared that I was too late. You looked so pale and still," she whimpered.

Erik wanted to scream and cry and rage at her. What, had she spent a month seeking solace in her lover's arms, and then she'd thought that she could… come back and find him waiting there for her? Nevermind that he _had_ waited for her. How dare she have made such presumptions.

He gripped her by the shoulders and pushed her away from him so that he could look at her better. She appeared so forlorn as he rejected her. Erik wanted to believe her sincerity so badly. He was such a fool. Here she was, sitting in bed with him and looking so lovely as she stared up at him with her big doe eyes that appeared as if they were full of love, and pain, and sadness… and here he was ready to forget the last two weeks of hell that she'd put him through and forgive her. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her again. Her soft, pink lips were parted in surprise.

"Erik, what's wrong? I don't understand why you're acting like this. I know I'm later than I thought I'd be and that I've probably made a mess of our wedding plans, and I understand that you must be very hurt and angry with me for ruining it, but that doesn't give you the right to-" she started to scold him.

He exploded in fury then. If she insisted on sticking to this preposterous facade and tried to play him for a fool then she had another thing coming her way. He would not be so easily swayed by a pretty mouth telling him pretty lies again. He was not some moonstruck calf or empty-headed fop to be lead about by the nose and abandoned when the game was over.

"Bravo, bravissima. You're really quite the actress, you know. Too bad I burned this Opera house down years ago. You could have been a star. The lies drip from your tongue like honey," he seethed at her.

Erik watched her sad, confused expression disappear as it was replaced with a look of anger.

"Go to Hell," she cursed at him. "You have no idea what I've been through to make it back here to you. I thought that you were dead. Why were you even laying there in that coffin? It's horrifying and gruesome."

"Go to hell? I'm already the Lord and master of it, my dear," he said with a cruel, mocking laugh. "Look around you, my domain stretches as far as you can see. I even have a river of Leith. Don't drink the water though, it would make you ill. There's nothing of substance here. It's all candle smoke and mirrors."

He thought of Sophie's lover wrapping her up in his arms as he kissed her on the very day that she was supposed to be marrying Erik. She had kissed another man on her wedding day! Lying Delilahs, all of them. Even Christine had mustered up the courage and done the decent thing by leaving him with no hope for a future reconciliation. How cruel Sophie was, to give him hope. Would she eat her cake, and have it too? Keep both lovers, then? One for darkness, and the other for light?

She started crying angry tears. "You have no idea how much I've suffered to get here," she reiterated. Her voice wavered as her lower lip trembled.

Erik turned his head away from her. He did not care to see her lie to him anymore. There was nothing she could say that would sway him.

"Oh? And what trials and tribulations were so vexing that you missed our appointment?" he asked mockingly.

"My mother died," she answered calmly. Her lower lip quivered again. Her face was mottled pink in anger.

Erik turned to stare at her and saw the pain of the truth in her eyes. He felt his armored resolve as it crumbled and abandoned him. In its wake he realized that there was so much grief and sorrow buried under there.

He reached a hand out to cup her face and he was glad that she let him. His fingers smoothed away the tears that had rolled down her cheeks. Sophie cupped her hands around his own and cried. And in that moment Erik felt a tiny seed of hope wedge itself deeper into his heart.

Erik noticed then that her hands were rough and callused and cracked. They were not the hands of a woman who had spent the last four weeks in pleasure. Suddenly, he believed her. His anger evaporated and left shame in its place. How on Earth had he doubted his Sophie? He knew that she was loyal to those who had earned it. He really was a damned fool.

"Tell me everything," he demanded softly.

And so she did.

* * *

Erik was laying in the bed with Sophie curled up against his side. He had stroked her hair while she'd recounted the last four weeks of her life. Erik cringed the whole time as he thought of all the cruel thoughts that he'd had for her in the last two weeks when he thought that she had abandoned him. But then he remembered how he'd seen her in the arms of her lover that night, and the spark of anger, which was always kindled in his gut, flamed higher. He tried to smother it out but the thought refused to be ignored.

"Who was that man?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Sophie looked up at him as her brows furrowed in confusion.

"What man?" she asked.

He side eyed her and paused. Did he really want to do this? But he had to. He could not ignore another Vicomte de Chagny intruding into his relationship. After all, it had not worked out in his favor the first time. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

"I went to get you… That Saturday. I saw you from the street. You were kissing a man. Who was he?" he asked. It took everything he had to ask her calmly. If she's lied to him in that moment then he wasn't certain that he could have been held accountable for his response.

"I…" she stammered as her voice cracked. Sophie buried her head onto his chest and clutched his shirt in her hand.

"Sophie, listen carefully. You must tell me the truth. If you ask for forgiveness I will grant it. But I can not… I will not tolerate any deceit in this," he promised.

Sophie was quiet for a while and Erik abandoned all hope that she would confess and beg his forgiveness. He felt as if she was further away from his reach now than when she had been living on the other side of Paris.

"He's my stepfather," she whispered.

Erik felt his body tensing in confusion.

"I don't understand," he protested. He took a deep breath as he waited for her response.

"I… I was fifteen when he started coming into my room at night. He said that I must keep it our secret or that he would tell my mother and she would throw me out on the streets and I'd end up as a prostitute anyways," she began. Her hand fisted tighter in his shirt.

Erik felt his breathing grow slower and deeper as his tumultuous feelings settled into finely honed, calm anger.

Sophie sniffed and Erik felt her tears on his chest. "It… went on like that for about a year, and then I had to tell my mother the truth. She slapped me and said that I must have tempted him and that I should confess to the priest and beg God for forgiveness. She called me a whore and said that she should throw me out onto the streets for it. She didn't," Sophie added.

Erik stroked her hair idly as she laid her soul bare to him.

"And then I learned that it was easier to just… let him. He hit us less. He drank less. And it was over faster… that way. But there was never any moment of it that was enjoyable for me," she pleaded.

Erik shifted them both until they were sitting. Sophie clung to his shirt and looked up at him with such sad eyes.

"Please believe me, Erik. That I never wanted him to touch me. That I never tempted him on purpose or asked for it," she begged him. "I just… I couldn't bare to leave Emma with him. And I couldn't find a way for us both to leave him. We had nowhere to go."

Erik stared shoved the whirlwind of emotions down deep within him as he stared down at her. He brushed a wild curl back behind her ear and watched her shudder as he caressed her cheek. Puzzle pieces clicked into place. Erik considered the possibilities. It was too horrible to even consider. But he had to ask; he had to know.

"How old are you, Sophie?" he asked her.

She appeared confused before she answered him, "I'm twenty-two."

"And how old is Emma?" he questioned further.

A tear rolled down her cheek. "She's five," Sophie whispered.

Erik cupped her face in his hands as her lower lip quivered. "And Emma is…" he asked. His voice trailed off. He found that he could not say the words.

"My daughter, yes," she answered for him.

Everything clicked into place for him then. Her hatred of her drunkard stepfather, her complicated feelings for her mother, and her fierce protectiveness towards her little sister who was not actually her sister at all.

"There- you asked for the truth and now you have it. You know all of my horrible sins now," she said morosely as she looked away from him. He supposed that she felt ashamed.

Erik let his thumb wipe the tears from her cheek as Sophie's head tilted and she stared up at him as she awaited to hear the verdict.

"Although you do not need it, you have my forgiveness if you want it," he informed her steadfastly.

They gazed at each other for a little while until Sophie rose up on her knees and pressed her lips to his. Erik wrapped his arms around her and willed her to know just how much he loved her as he returned her shy and gentle kiss.

Her kiss turned passionate as the two lovers reconnected at last.

Erik was the first to break away. "Sophie…" he said, unsure of himself.

"Please, Erik, I need to know that your feelings for me haven't changed," she pleaded.

Erik was confused by this. "Of course my feelings haven't changed for you. Why would they?" he asked her.

"Because I'm tainted," she confessed with downcast eyes.

Erik set his fingers to her chin and tipped her head up until she looked at him.

"Don't you dare ever say that about yourself again. I… I don't know how you can bear my touch, or any man's touch, after what he did to you," he disclosed shyly. It was the truth. How could he have done such things to her after all that she had been through? How could she have let him? Surely she must be disgusted by his previous advances.

"It's different with you," she reassured him. She wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and inched forward on her knees on the bed until their bodies were touching.

"I can't understand how it's different, how you can stand it…" he protested.

"Because I love you. And because you never forced me. And because when I'm with you it just feels different, like night and day," she replied.

Sophie inched her mouth closer to his until he tilted his head down and then their lips were meeting again. Timidly he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. Her tongue darted out to lick his lips and he complied and opened his mouth and then they were exploring each other again. She moaned when his hand groped low and cupped her backside as he pulled her flush against himself. The sound was reassuring and it was all the permission that he needed.

Erik's fingers were reaching to the buttons on the collar of her dress. He never stopped kissing her as he helped her undress. He never wanted to let her out of his reach again. She'd come back to him. His Sophie had not abandoned him after all. Her kisses chased his shame and anger away until only passion was left in its place. One button popped free and landed somewhere in the twisted sheets in his haste to disrobe her. Sophie laughed and helped him pull the dress open and over her head. The corset was next. And then her hands were on him and she was pulling the shirt free from his pants.

As soon as Erik freed her from her clothes his mouth was on her skin. His hands roamed her body. She was even thinner than she'd been before she left, but her breasts and stomach were still delightfully soft. He kissed a trail down her neck and across her collarbone until he took one of her breast into his mouth and swirled his tongue around her nipple. Sophie gasped and pulled away from him a little.

"Gentle, Erik," she requested. And so he was. Erik pulled his shirt off of him and was out of his trousers just as quickly and then they were falling down into the bed together and Erik's hands were gently caressing her.

Sophie moaned as he ran his hands along her slender thighs and found the warm, wet depths between them. He teased and caressed and coaxed her as they kissed until she was slick and ready.

Erik positioned himself at her entrance and tilted his hips. He slid into her ever so slowly and once he'd seated himself into her he paused and bent forward and kissed her deeply.

She moaned into his mouth and tilted her hips under him and moved against him. He took her cue and began to slowly thrust in and out of her. Their eyes met as they worked against each other. Sophie cupped her fingers along the unmasked side of his face and Erik closed his eyes as he made love to her.

He felt his need for her deepening as the feelings and sensations of her overwhelmed his senses.

Erik reached his hand down to where they were joined together. He slid his thumb along her folds and found the part of her that made her gasp and moan. She was so wet and warm as he slid in and out of her.

Sophie's breathing hitched and her hips jerked upwards of their own volition as he let his thumb circle the little nub of flesh that she seemed to enjoy so much. He was pleased with himself when she shuddered against him and her hips bucked in her release. He continued their lazy pace until Sophie's fingers gripped him tighter and then he let himself loose as he sought his own release and pleasure.

When they were done he collapsed beside her on the dusty bed and held her close as she snuggled up into his side. They were both covered in a fine film of sweat as they struggled to catch their breath. The mask was uncomfortable against his face from all of the movement and perspiration. But Erik was happy anyways. He idly wonder how one person could vacillate between such highs and lows.

Erik's fingers made lazy circles on Sophie's shoulders as she tucked her head into the hollow of his neck.

"I assume we missed our own wedding," she murmured. Sophie reached her hand out and found his and their fingers intertwined.

"Yes. I'll talk to the priest again.I'm sure that arrangements can be made," he replied.

"You mean that you'll threaten him," she joked as she chuckled. Her grip tightened on his hand.

"Or bribe… or both, probably," he said, entirely serious.

"Erik, why were you sleeping in a coffin?" She asked earnestly as she tilted her head so that she was looking up at him.

He let his gaze drop down to her as he pulled her closer. He wanted to never let her go again.

"It's a little… morbid joke of mine. When I was enslaved by the gypsies they called me the living corpse. And afterwards when I was traveling on my own I used the same name for my show. It was a way to reclaim it and make it mine," he explained.

"I hope you don't expect to bring it with you," she said sternly. A mother's voice. It all made sense to him now.

Erik kissed the top of her head. "I'll leave it here if it disturbs you."

"I suppose we'll need Nadir to help us sort through the cavern. I don't know what you'd like to bring. Most of the furniture is unusable now," she stated calmly.

Erik grimaced. "I will handle it," he asserted.

Sophie shrugged.

Erik looked down at their intertwined hands. "Sophie, where's your ring?" he asked her finally.

"Oh! I completely forgot. It's on my pocket watch. I was afraid that he would steal the ring and sell it if he saw it," she told him.

Erik disengaged from her and moved off of the bed. He searched through their pile of abandoned clothes until he found the golden pocket watch. True to her word the engagement ring was there. He unclasped it and pulled the ring free, then returned to the bed and slid it onto her awaiting finger. It was looser than it had been and swiveled on her finger. She was far too thin now. Sophie smiled at him as he pulled her close beside him in the bed. He kissed the top of her head again.

"I think I have a teapot that missed the worst of my anger, and some bread and jam left in the stores. Shall I make us something?" he offered. Sophie nodded up at him. And Erik saw the bruises under her eyes from lack of sleep and the thinness of her cheeks. Despite her lean appearance it was nothing that a little time and some extra meals and rest couldn't fix.

He left her in the bedroom and pulled his trousers on as he picked his way carefully across the mayhem that was the cavern floor. He stepped over broken bits of glass and wood debris. There wasn't even anywhere to sit now. He'd really made quite the mess of it this time.

Erik found the unbroken Persian teapot and a single china cup. It had a small chip in the rim, but it was still serviceable. He set the teapot to boil on the stove and found the stale loaf of bread. He cut it thin and toasted it on the stove. Once that was done he coated it lavishly with some raspberry preserves. He'd have to get more groceries tomorrow. And maybe a cart or two to haul the piles of rubbish away. On second thought, why bother? They'd be moving soon. He merely had to pile it all up in some unused nook so that the floor was passable. It's not like they'd planned to live down there much longer.

He placed the toast on the only intact plate that was left and poured the cup full of sweetened tea. Erik brought it all carefully into the bedroom. Sophie had donned her chemise at some point in his absence. He handed her the tea cup then climbed back into bed and balanced the plate of toast on his lap within her reach.

She took a sip of tea and groaned in what he hoped was delight, then nibbled slowly on a piece of jellied toast.

"I'll start the cleaning and sorting in the morning," he told her.

"I think that I can come by in the afternoon to help you if you'd like," she offered.

He looked at her in confusion. "But aren't you staying here?" he asked her.

Sophie looked at him with wide eyes and set the piece of toast back down on the plate.

"Erik I can't bring Emma here. It's far too dangerous for a five year old. She could hurt herself on any number of things or, God forbid, drown in the lake. She's with Nadir right now but I promised her that I'd come back before she woke up for maman's funeral," she explained.

It was not the answer that he'd hoped for but he considered himself to be a rational man and it made sense in its own way. How odd to have to put the needs of another person before his own. He wasn't sure he liked it.

"Ah. I'm not used to having to consider the needs of a child. I can see how this place would be ill suited for one. I'll talk with the priest and see how quickly he can make the arrangements," he said and then he paused. "Or do you… need a mourning period? I know that is the custom. But I'd prefer not to be separated from you for that long."

Sophie ate the piece of toast and seemed to be considering his words. She drank it down with the rest of her tea. "No, thank you, I think it would be best if we married as soon as possible... as we'd originally planned."

Erik was relieved. He wasn't fond of the idea of waiting to marry her for six months or even longer. How long did one mourn the death of their mother? Was the period cut shorter if one didn't really like their mother? He was grateful that his Sophie was so practical.

"I'll make the arrangements then," he said in a pleased tone of voice.

"Have you thought about children?" she asked him curiously. A blush spread across her face.

Erik quickly turned to look at her but she stayed silent. He felt out of his depth. What answer would she want from him?

"I hadn't given it much thought before to be honest," he admitted shyly. Why would he have? He'd never thought he'd end up a married man who lived in a quiet country home with his little wife. Even when he'd been in love with Christine and had hoped to make her his wife one day he'd never really considered touching her in that way. Who touched an angel that way? It seemed inconceivable.

Sophie was looking at him strangely and Erik felt an edge of panic creeping in. That had obviously not been the answer that she was looking for. So what answer did she want, then? Ah, the little girl… Emma. She must have been worried how he would get along with her daughter. Sophie was Emma's mother. Most mothers fiercely guarded their young. Would the child's needs come before his needs, then? He wasn't sure that he liked that idea at all.

"I'm not… adverse to children. At least in theory. But I also have not had much contact with them or much cause to… consider them. But I'm certain that I will come to care for Emma if she is anything at all like her mother."

Sophie looked away from him and studied the wall. Was she still unsatisfied with his answer? What more could he say? He'd never met the girl. How was he to know if he liked her when he'd never met her? And he had no idea how the child would react to him and his mask. Children were typically either extremely curious of Erik, or horrified by Erik, or some combination of the two. He remembered how the children who came to his shows used to stare at him after it was over. Some of the more curious or brave ones wouldn't leave him in peace until he took the mask off to frighten them away. The first time that he had done it he'd been satisfied by their ear piercing screams and shrieks. After a while it had become less satisfying. And then eventually it became something that he dreaded. Town after town and village after village the children were always the same.

"And have you ever considered having children of your own… one day?" she asked more pointedly. Sophie refused to look at him as she waited for a reply.

Ah. So that had been her angle. Erik studied her, unsure of what to say or how to phrase it. "There's always the concern that my condition would be inherited," he said pragmatically.

"Were either of your parents deformed?" she inquired softly.

"No. My mother was very beautiful. But I only ever saw my father's portrait. He died before I was born. He seemed normal enough if the artist was to be believed. Sometimes portrait painters take liberties… but I have no knowledge that he was anything but an average man," he murmured.

And suddenly he was lost in thoughts and memories of his beautiful, cruel mother and her constant disappoint in him. Of his first mask and that time that he'd shattered the mirror in her bedroom and nearly bled to death from the cuts on his hands and wrists.

He was lost in the memories and so he missed the beginning of Sophie's panicked dash from the room. But once he had noticed the movement his reflexes had kicked in and he was soon following after her.

She'd disappeared into the bathroom and Erik nearly stumbled over her upon his entry. He stopped just short of stepping on her leg, the one that he'd healed, when he found her hunched over the toilet and vomiting up her toast and tea.

He was not at all prepared for the sight of Sophie retching into the commode. It was the last thing that he'd expected to see. His mind took over as it warred with his animalistic instincts for control over his body.

"Have you caught what your mother died from, Sophie? When did this start? What are your symptoms" he asked as his mind ran through the various illness and treatments that might fit the scenario. Food poisoning? A stomach illness? Cholera? Good heavens, he hoped it was anything but cholera.

Sophie retched again and dry heaved, then sat back onto the bathroom floor.

"Can you get me some water? Please… anything," she whimpered.

Erik did as she asked. He left to fill her tea cup with some clean water then brought it to her and watched her as she rinsed her mouth out and spat into the toilet, then drank the rest.

"Whatever it is we can fix it. I'll get my medical texts and we'll go over it together," he said reassuringly. He felt that he should pat her on the back or something. Isn't that how people comforted one another?

"I'm fine, Erik, there's nothing to fix," she brushed him off.

"Don't be ridiculous. Do you think that I don't see how thin you are? How sunken your eyes look? How pale you are? I will not lose you to this," he reiterated.

Sophie glanced up at him and smiled at him faintly as she leaned her weight on the toilet's seat.

"I'm not sick, Erik, I'm pregnant with your child," she told him calmly.

Erik heard nothing but his blood rushing in his ears as he stared at her. It took a moment for the words to penetrate his mind. Pregnant? With a child? With _his_ child? Erik felt his knees go soft. Not trusting his legs to keep him upright he sat on the bathroom floor next to her and they stared at one another.

Sophie was pregnant. Sophie was pregnant and it was his child.

He wondered briefly about the stepfather and the kiss that he'd seen but he had enough common sense left in his thick, fuzzy, post-morphine addled mind to keep that particular concern to himself.

He was going to be a father.

Well that explained her careful inquiries into his paternal ambitions.

And so Erik was left to wonder what it really meant to him. How he really felt about it. If he was happy about the news… or not. He wasn't sure.

But he could see that Sophie was staring at him, as she waited patiently and quietly, while she looked at him for some hint of a reaction.

A child. A son or a daughter. His child.

A million possibilities flew through his head at lightning speed. One thought stuck out to him. What did Sophie think? Was she prepared to have the devil's spawn? The child of the living corpse?

He studied her, looking for the most subtle of clues. Any hint of disgust or fear or revulsion on her face.

There was none. Just patience and understanding and a calm, quiet serenity.

He reached his hand out to hers and she let their fingers intertwined and then there was the meanest hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

Sophie was pregnant with his child and she was happy for it.

So he decided that he would be too. Even if the child came out deformed. He'd do what his mother couldn't; he'd love it anyways. He pulled her to him and into a kiss and ignored her half hearted protests that she needed to brush her teeth or rinse her mouth out better first. None of that mattered to him right now in that moment.


	25. Chapter 25

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 25

Sophie felt as if her heart would burst from happiness until she remembered that her mother was dead and she had a funeral to arrange and attend. It was so easy to forget about the constant needs and demands of the world above when you were down here in the comforts and the quiet of such a secluded, peaceful refuge.

She hated the busy Parisian life with all of its hustle and bustle and the constant grind to keep food on the table and oil in the lamps. She hoped that their quiet, country home in a sleepy, remote town would always feel just like this. How wonderful would it be to garden for pleasure? Maybe she'd even cut a little patch for fruits and vegetables. Emma would love it if they planted strawberries.

And then she could can and preserve the fruit and vegetables and store them for winter. Emma would never be hungry or cold again. They'd never have to plan their meals around what foods were cheapest and in season. And the baby… How different would it be to have a child whose father loved it? A baby who she was allowed to keep as her own this time? Sophie tried not to dwell on the baby too much. She'd seen how many of her mother's pregnancies had ended in stillbirths or miscarriages. But she was hopeful, even if it felt a little premature.

She had seen the range of emotions as they had crossed the unmasked portion of Erik's face. Either she was getting better at reading him or he was letting down his guard a little. Maybe it was a combination of the two.

"You're not mad, then?" she asked him. She needed to be sure. She wanted him to say the words and set her fears aside. If he was angry then she would find a way to do this on her own. She idly placed a hand on her flat stomach even though she knew that it was far too early to feel anything inside.

"I'd never expected to… I had not thought that I...but I am happy if you are happy," he reassured her.

Erik pulled her up and ushered her back to bed then disappeared back out into the main portion of the cavern.

Sophie pulled her pocket watch from the pile of clothing on the floor. It was just a little after midnight. Had they really spent the last five hours talking and… doing other things? She blushed and felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. And then she remembered that her mother was dead and the weight returned. It settled itself around her shoulders and muffled her relief and joy.

Erik stepped into the room with another cup full of tea. Sophie grimaced as he handed it to her.

"I haven't been able to keep anything down for a little while now," she admitted.

"This should help. The ginger will settle your stomach. I'll have to find some books on midwifery. My medical texts say nothing useful about childbirth or pregnancy," he explained.

"Are you going to be my nursemaid for the next eight months then ?" she joked. She took the cup from him before he could answer and sipped it slowly. The taste was a little strange and spicy, but not entirely unpleasant. It settled her stomach and she felt her mood lift as it improved even more.

Erik settled into the bed beside her and wrapped his arm around her, his hand rested lightly on her belly.

She smiled up at him between sips of tea.

"It's too early to feel anything. The baby won't move for a few more months," she told him. But he left his fingers where they were anyways. Sophie yawned and blinked her eyes sleepily.

"You should get some rest, you need it now," he said as he took the empty tea cup from her.

"I have to return before Emma wakes up. There's so much to do… and I've left it all to Nadir," she hesitated, feeling guilty.

"Nonsense. Nadir likes to be useful. He's happiest when he's being ordered about. Sleep a little. I'll wake you before dawn," he offered.

Sophie relented. She was so very tired. Sleep had come to her few and far between during the last four weeks due to her constant vigil over her mother and the never ending list of chores that needed doing. And the morning sickness that came at all hours of the day, and not just in the morning like its name said, had made her even more fatigued than usual. Sophie hadn't needed much more convincing. The bed was warm and soft as she settled down under the blankets and spooned herself into Erik's side. Minutes later she was fast asleep.

* * *

Erik was stroking her shoulder and arm until her eyes fluttered open, and then his hand stilled. She returned to wakefulness slowly. The bed was so warm and soft and comforting, and she was still so very tired. And Erik's arms were around her, and for the first time in a month she felt safe, and loved, and secure. It felt so right for his arms to be wrapped around her, and it felt so wrong to pull away as she rose and donned her clothing. But she did it anyways, even though she felt as if she could have slept for ten more hours.

"What time is it?" she asked. Erik checked the pocket watch.

"Half past four," he answered and then he disappeared quietly from the bedroom.

Sophie nodded absently and pulled her corset on over her head. She tied it loosely then settled her petticoat around her waist. She ignored her rumpled dress on the floor and pulled the clean indigo gown from the trunk where she had left it. It was the darkest gown that she could wear. She hated to taint her pleasant memories of the dress by wearing it for such a somber occasion as a funeral. But she really couldn't have dared to ask Nadir to purchase her and Emma a set of black mourning gowns. He was already doing them such a kindness, and it felt inappropriate to ask him to do something so intimate for her.

The indigo would have to do. Sophie dressed quickly and buttoned the gown up to her neck, pausing only for a moment to tuck the golden pocket watch within the confines of the dark material. She caught herself. There was no reason to hide the necklace, now. So she fished it back out and buttoned the gown to her neck and settled the pocket watch into place on her chest.

Erik returned in that moment with a steaming tea cup in hand. Sophie took it and murmured her thanks, then sipped it slowly and took pleasure in the way that it warmed her throat and belly. It was so very nice to feel human again, even if she was still a bit exhausted and hungry. She drained its contents then set the empty tea cup aside.

He led her to the secret entrance and ignored her protests when she told him that she could make the climb alone. Erik set the torch ablaze and led her up the seemingly endless flight of stone stairs. The climb was not any easier in repetition. Sophie wondered how Erik managed it so often, and she was grateful that she would not have to get used to it. She couldn't even imagine herself trying to manage the tortuous ascent while heavily pregnant.

She was breathing hard and her legs felt weak when they finally reached the top.

"Darius is waiting for me," she reassured him when Erik paused before the mechanism.

He pulled his hand back from the hidden mechanism, unactivated, and set the torch into the sconce.

Sophie stared at him in confusion and wondered if something was wrong until he turned and pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply. She forgot her fatigue and sorrow as he pulled her to him and pressed his mouth to hers. He kissed her and hugged her to him, then pulled away a moment later. Her body throbbed and yearned for him again, but there was no time now to satisfy that need.

She pulled back from him and let her hand cup his cheek. Her thumb traced a path along his jaw until it reached the corner of his mouth.

"When will I see you again?" she asked him.

"I will need to make our arrangements. And there is the matter of the priest and the realtor to settle still. I've ignored the lawyer's letters in your absence. But I think that it has done us no great harm. The house needs a few more repairs than they'd anticipated, but it's habitable... if it is still for sale. Do you need me to be there for you, for the funeral, I mean?" he questioned her.

"I don't even know when it will be; today, I hope. I left nadir to make the plans for me. I think that I can manage it if you can not… find a way to attend. I suppose that Jacques will be there too unless he is drunk and passed out in some tavern. That is just as likely. Perhaps it would be best if Emma and I attended to that alone. I haven't found a way to tell her about all of this yet. It never seemed appropriate," she admitted.

"I will see what can be done. Darius can act as our go between if needed. I'll send you word about the arrangements," he advised her.

Sophie nodded and leaned forward to place one last kiss upon his lips. Erik stepped back and pressed the mechanism then watched her as she stepped out into the dark alley.

The carriage, and an asleep Darius, were waiting for her just a little ways down the street from where it had dropped her off. Sophie approached the horse and man and carriage quietly and greeted the friendly horse with a pat on the head. Darius jolted awake at the horse's low whinnie.

"I'm done here, Darius, Thank you for waiting. I'm terribly sorry to have kept you out so long. We can return now," she commanded hesitantly. It felt so very strange to be ordering another adult around.

Darius nodded in his silent way and made to hop down from his seat.

She waved him away. She was more than capable of opening a carriage door and stepping inside; Even with her skirts to manage. Darius seemed uncomfortable at her independence but she ignored it. She was not used to having servants. Once she was seated in the carriage and she'd closed the door behind her she heard the snapping of the reins and felt the carriage begin to move.

It was not so far from the opera house to the Rue de Rivoli. When the carriage finally rolled to a stop Sophie opened the door and let herself out. Darius followed behind her until they approached the door. He rushed ahead and opened it and waited until she'd let herself inside, and then he shut it and locked it behind her. He really was a curious man. Were all servants so quiet? It was a tad unnerving and she wondered how people accustomed themselves to it. Maybe it was different if one grew up with servants. Sophie was not used to it at all.

The household was dark and quiet as Darius led her to a small bedchamber. He opened the door for her and she was relieved to see Emma laying peacefully in the bed. Her limbs were flailing to different corners of the narrow guest bed, as the little girl did often whenever she was deeply asleep. Sophie quietly thanked Darius, who shut the door behind her without a reply, then she quickly disrobed and set her gown over the back of a little chair so that it would not wrinkle. She unhooked her corset and kicked her boots off by the narrow desk, then crawled into bed and pulled the little girl to her. Everything felt right again with her daughter safely tucked underneath her chin. Moments later Sophie was fast asleep.


	26. Chapter 26

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 26

Erik started the cleanup process at the desk since he needed it to be in working order for his communications with the lawyer. He spent an hour sorting through his stacks of books to find the ones that could be saved. He grimaced as he threw the shredded remains of the Greek mythology book onto the 'burn' pile. Luckily his architecture and medical texts were largely unscathed. Much of the sheet music and scores of composition were salvageable too. He paused his sorting to leaf through his medical texts. The lack of significant information on pregnancy and childbirth was disconcerting. What did women do? Why was this not taught? Perhaps there was a specialized text that he'd just never needed before.

Once the desk was in working order again he paused to draft his reply to the lawyer. It only took him a few moments to pen his acceptance of the house and to make the arrangements with the banks for the transfer of the fund. He pored over his most recent account statement and was able to read the majority of its contents between ink stains. Nadir really had been quite ingenious in his investing, although he'd never dare let the Daroga know it. He thought that perhaps he should let the man add some of his funds to that Egyptian hotel speculation as well. It could prove fruitful in the future. After all, he had a son or daughter to consider now. Plus Sophie and Emma.

Erik paused at that thought. How quickly his life had been altered from one extreme to another. He'd awakened yesterday, depressed and completely bereft that his Sophie had left him and he'd been ready to die, and now today he was going to become a provider, and a husband, and a father. He looked up from the completed letter and surveyed the wreckage of the room. _I really ought to learn how to control this temper better._

His eyes fell upon the mound of shattered glass and broken bits of wood. He groaned but moved to stand anyways. He'd best get started.


	27. Chapter 27

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 27

Sophie held Emma's hand tightly in her own as they sat in the church and listened to the priest's sermon. Her thoughts wandered, but every now and then her attention snapped forward to the priest's words and she felt ashamed of herself for being so distracted at her own mother's funeral.

Emma cried silently beside her on the pew.

The priest was signaling a prayer now, so Sophie pulled Emma forward onto the prayer bench before them and they kneeled together as they prayed and listened to the priest.

Jacques had arrived on time, but just barely. His shirt was rumpled, and his face was not shaved, and he stunk of gin and stale smoke. He'd tried to join them on the pew where they were seated, but Sophie pulled Emma to her side and moved them to another seat instead. He hadn't tried to join them a second time. Nadir was waiting for them in the back of the church out of polite deference since he was not a Christian. Even so, she valued the sweet man's comforting presence. The knowledge that he was there behind her and could intervene if needed gave her the courage to stay and face her stepfather.

Their neighbors _Madame_ and _Monsieur_ Durant were the only other souls in attendance. Her mother had not been a very friendly, social woman ever since her father's death.

The priest was signing the motion of the cross in the air by his head and Sophie realized that the funeral service was finished. She'd hardly heard a word of it. Emma squeezed her hand and looked up at her.

It was time to say goodbye to mother.

Sophie pulled Emma up and together they approached the casket. The priest looked at them sadly and Sophie tried her best to ignore the man as she looked down at her mother's body. Here was the woman who had raised her. The woman who had kissed her forehead, sung songs to her at night when she couldn't sleep, and who had held her through the thunderstorms that frightened her when she was little. Here was the woman who had slapped her face, called her a whore, and taken her child away from her. Would the conflicted feelings ever resolve themselves? She felt tears streaming down her face. She hadn't thought that she had any more tears that could be shed.

She picked Emma up and held the too heavy girl onto her hip so that they could both see her mother... their mother, one last time.

 _Madame_ and _Monsieur_ Durant approached them to pay their respects and tell them that they were so very sorry for their loss and to let her and Emma know that if there was anything that they could do to help, that all they had to do was ask.

Jacques stepped forward timidly and Sophie pulled Emma to her tighter and walked away from him. She had nothing to say to the man. With Emma on her hip she turned her back to her mother's casket and walked down the church's nave and out into the sunshine. Nadir followed them quietly.

* * *

The burial was quick and quiet. Jacques and _Monsieur_ Durant and four strong altar boys from the church carried her mother's casket to the graveyard where the hole had been dug beside her father's headstone. There was no headstone here yet for her mother; only a wooden cross with her mother's name and date of birth and date of death etched into the wood. The six men lowered her mother's casket into the ground and then Nadir stepped forward to hand Sophie the giant bouquet of flowers that they'd picked that morning from her glass top garden.

Sophie lowered Emma onto the upturned dirt and let the little girl help her drop the roses and daisies and lilies one by one into the grave.

"Mamman liked the white lilies best," the little girl said thoughtfully as she plucked all of the white lilies from Sophie's hands and flung them into the hole.

 _Madame_ and _Monsieur_ Durant paid their final respects and then left. The priest and the altar boys silently returned to the church. And Sophie was left to stare into the flower covered hole that held her mother's remains. She wondered when she'd feel the emotions that she should have been already feeling. All she felt right then was numb.

"Sophie-girl..." Jacques started.

She looked at him sharply and saw him flinch away from her. "Don't you dare," she interrupted. "You can pay your respects quietly, or you can leave. The choice is yours."

Sophie watched him as he drew himself up and tried to intimidate her. She saw him for what he was, then: an opportunist, a card-cheat, a drunk, and a weak willed man who had to hit women in order to feel strong and powerful. He disgusted her and suddenly she wondered how she'd found the strength to manage him for all those years.

Emma looked up at her from her side with worried eyes.

"Emma-baby, sweetheart," her stepfather cajoled as he reached his hands out to the little girl.

Sophie pulled Emma tighter into her skirts and felt the little girl's arms wrap themselves around her legs.

"You'll not speak to her," Sophie demanded. "And you will never see her again. We are leaving," she yelled at him. Emma started crying and Nadir stepped forward as if to intervene.

Jacque's pleasant, worried expression devolved into an angry sneer.

"And just who is this man, Sophie? Your lover? Is this the man who you were shacked up with while you were gone? Is he the one who bought you that fancy gold pocket watch around your neck and that shiny ring on your finger? What, did he say he'd marry you? A man doesn't buy the cow when he gets the milk for free. You'll never be nothin' but his whore" Jacques accused her scornfully, and then he spat on the ground by Nadir's feet.

Sophie considered all of the things that she could say: every vile thought that she'd ever had for Jacques, all the things she'd longed to rant and rave at him, and every curse she'd ever made in his name.

Instead, she clamped her lips and walked away.

"Don't try to find us. We don't want to be found," she called out behind her. Emma released her legs and held her arms up in the air instead. Sophie picked the girl up and held her to her chest. Nadir escorted them quietly to his carriage, and then they were inside of it and rolling far, far away from the church, and her parents' graves, and Jacques.


	28. Chapter 28

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 28

Erik set his ink tipped pen onto the paper and wrote.

 _My Dearest Sophie,_

Too trite? He crumpled up the paper and threw it onto the growing pile.

 _My love,_

Definitely too trite. He crumpled that one too and threw it over his shoulder without looking.

 _May 9th, 1882_

 _Sophie,_

 _I have received word from the solicitor that our proposal and our terms have been accepted. The papers are in order and have been signed and are, even now as you are reading this, on their way. I have made all of the arrangements with the bank. The solicitor assures me that we can take ownership and be inside of our new home by June._

 _There is some furniture that has been left by the previous tenants after their vacancy and this is apparently included with the house and land. We can make the necessary additions upon our arrival. If there is anything in particular that you desire then you should make the selection of it now while we are still in Paris. Nadir can deduct it from my account, he has the information._

 _I have also just heard word from the priest of Sainte Chapelle. We have come to an agreement and settled on Friday, the 26th of May. I know that it is a little over two weeks away and that much can go wrong in two weeks so I have made arrangements with Madame Giry to keep you company and take you shopping in the meantime. Enjoy all that Paris has to offer, for we may not be returning for quite some time._

 _Yours Always,_

 _E. R._

 _P.S. How are you and Emma and the baby?_

 _P.P.S. I hope that the accompanying delivery is to your liking and specifications. If any changes are required then please alert Madame Giry and she will assist you. It arrived three weeks ago and has been in her care ever since. She knows the boutique where it was purchased and can arrange for any necessary alterations._


	29. Chapter 29

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 29

Sophie sat on the sofa and drank tea with Nadir as they listened to Darius entertain Emma in the kitchen. The soft spoken and mild mannered manservant had become Emma's closest companion in the last few days since they'd come to live with the Daroga.

While reserved and mute around Sophie, Darius came alive around the little girl. He'd already told her many wondrous stories about friendly tigers and bands of thieves who found an enchanted oil lamp that contained a wish granting djinn. The mischievous djinn brought misery to all who wished upon it, much to Emma's delight.

A knock at the door startled the entire household from the day's routine. Darius slipped from the kitchen to answer the door and returned with _Madame_ Giry. Darius followed her, carrying in a rather large, white box tied with a red satin ribbon.

"Ah! _Madame_ Giry, please won't you join us for some tea?" Nadir invited her in cordially.

 _Madame_ Giry nodded politely and joined Sophie on the Sofa.

Sophie reached forward to pour the woman a cup of tea.

"What brings you here to enjoy this afternoon with us?" Nadir inquired.

" _He_ has a delivery for the _mademoiselle_ ," the woman said evenly as she pulled a sealed letter from a pocket of her jacket and handed it directly to Sophie.

Sophie's heart raced. Another note! She took it from Madame Giry with a smile and said her thanks. She used the handle of her tea spoon to break the red wax seal and began to read its contents. She read it twice, then smiled at the post scripts.

"Erik sends news about the arrangements with the church and the solicitor. They've settled on a date for each. _Monsieur_ Khan, it seems that you will have your home restored to order before June. We're to marry on Friday the twenty-sixth of this month and then we'll travel to Jouy le Portier and take possession of the house," she summarized.

"Ah, my dear, how delightful. Weddings are such a joyous occasion," Nadir said cordially.

"Thank you, _Monsieur_ , for everything. I can't ever thank you enough for your kindness and generosity," she directed at him.

Nadir tipped his head forward and took a sip of tea.

"This is also for you," _Madame_ Giry pointed out as she nudged the large, heavy box forward on the table. "He wishes me to stay and assist you with this," the woman explained as she took her long, graying braid in her hand and placed it over her shoulder. It was a practiced movement.

Sophie turned her attention to the box as she pulled the ribbon loose and lifted the lid.

When she saw what it contained she gasped and held her hand to her mouth. From within the confines of the perfumed, tissue paper that enveloped it she pulled out a beaded headpiece and its attached ivory veil. Underneath that, she found the dress itself.

The wedding gown was the most beautiful garment that she had ever seen. It was made of ivory silk that had been embroidered with gold thread. The pattern that was sewn onto the bodice of the dress was floral in nature with twists and ropes and whorls of roses. The neckline plunged low despite the high collar of the back, and there was a line of mother of pearl buttons down the front of it. The skirt that accompanied it was underneath.

"Come, child, let's try it on and test the fit of it," _Madame_ Giry instructed.

Nadir stood and bowed like a gentleman as the ladies left the sitting room and carried the box into the guest bedroom.

It was a little strange to undress in front of another woman. Sophie pulled her gown off over her head and laid it on the bed while _Madame_ Giry unpacked the wedding dress and shook it out. It was even more amazing than she'd first thought. The sleeves of the dress came down to the middle of the forearm with a little cuff, and then underneath the cuff there was a spill of fine pleated ivory tulle. The bodice was even more low cut than she'd first thought. _Madame_ Giry took up the skirt next. The ivory silk skirt had a small bustle in the back and the front fell in drapes of fabric down the front. There was a plain ruffle of silk at the bottom along the hem, and in the back there was a bustle with a long train made of the same gold embroidered silk fabric as the bodice. Inside of the box there was even a set of matching gold embroidered ivory heeled shoes.

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Sophie murmured as she stared at it on the bed.

 _Madame_ Giry smiled and fingered the fabric. "Yes, he has good taste," she agreed. And then the woman was inspecting the cut of the gown and the corners of the mouth had turned down slightly, "although I see that he also has a man's tastes."

The bodice really was quite low. Sophie blushed as she stood there in her undergarments and corset and waited patiently for the woman to set the garment back down.

 _Madame_ Giry turned to her and frowned. "Corset and undergarments too. Take it all off," she barked.

Sophie's eyes widened in shock. This woman wanted her to disrobe completely? In front of her? While she watched?

"Umm… I don't…" she stammered.

 _Madame_ Giry merely rolled her eyes and stepped behind Sophie to attack the ties of her corset. The old woman had her corset untied and removed before Sophie could think to protest any further.

"It's nothing that I haven't seen before, my dear. I have a daughter, Meg, and I was the ballet mistress at the opera house. Who do you think helped the dancers dress and undress for each performance?" _Madame_ Giry informed her in clipped tones.

Her corset hit the floor and then _Madame_ Giry's fingers were pulling off her chemise and adding that to the growing pile on the floor. Thankfully, however, the old woman let Sophie keep her drawers in place.

Sophie raised her arms to cover her now bared breasts as _Madame_ Giry grabbed the skirt from the bed and all but slung it over her head and into place. The bodice was next. Despite the row of mother of pearl buttons down the front of it the bodice opened and closed in the back with laces. _Madame_ Giry unlaced the back of the gown and held it before Sophie.

She realized that she would have to put her arms down in order to put the bodice on. But that would expose her breasts. It was a dilemma.

 _Madame_ Giry stamped her foot on the floor and Sophie dropped her arms in reflex.

The old woman stared at her for far longer than Sophie thought was decent or necessary, but then the bodice was being shoved into place and _Madame_ Giry was stepping around behind her and lacing it together. Where the woman had been rough before, she was gentle now. The bodice came together and Sophie discovered why _Madame_ Giry had insisted on her total disrobing. The gown had its own support system of stays built into the top. Erik had bought her a wedding gown that would leave her naked underneath. The implication was embarrassing in front of the ballet mistress who was helping her get dressed, and Sophie felt the hot blush as it crept up her neck.

"The gown will fit," _Madame_ Giry announced. "You are lighter than you must have been when it was ordered, which has given you the room that you will need for your swelling belly."

Sophie was shocked into speechlessness as the old ballet mistress tightened the laces once more and announced that it was done.

The bodice was tight along her swollen breasts, but loose enough across her soft stomach so that it was not too uncomfortable. Sophie looked down and saw the massive cleavage that the gown created from her swollen breasts. She was unused to such a low result hovered just a hairsbreadth between scandalous and completely outrageous.

"Is it that obvious?" Sophie asked quietly once she'd found her voice.

"To another mother, yes. And to a ballet mistress, yes. I had to sack many dancers who came to costume fittings with a belly like yours. They too thought that they could hide it from me. How far along are you? I'd guess six weeks," the woman said succinctly and with no side-stepping.

"Five weeks," Sophie answered. What else was there to say? There'd be no hiding it at all soon.

 _Madame_ Giry grasped her by the shoulders and stared at her as if there was some secret answer hiding in her face.

"My dear, I know that your mother, may God rest her soul, has recently passed. So as a mother myself, I will overstep the bounds of our relationship and fulfil her role for you in this moment. Erik is not a man to be lied to, or trifled with. If there is even the slightest chance that the child is not his then it would not be wise for you to mislead him in such a way. He would discover it, of that you can be certain. And the consequences could be disastrous."

Sophie blushed even harder than she had before as the woman stared at her like that. Should she have felt indignant or angry? Or rather, should she have felt pleased that Erik's friends were so fiercely protective of him? Mostly, she was just embarrassed.

"There is no question of it, _Madame_ , Erik is the father," she finally managed to say when she found her voice.

 _Madame_ Giry stared at her, as if she could catch Sophie in a lie simply by looking at her. Sophie wondered suddenly if this stern ballet mistress wasn't truly capable of such a feat. It was certainly disconcerting to be stared at like that. It made her want to confess just to get the punishment over with, even though Sophie was _not_ lying and had nothing to hide other than her illegitimate pregnancy. Apparently whatever the woman saw was satisfying because the ballet mistress released her shoulders, grabbed the veiled headpiece, and settled it on Sophie's head.

"Beautiful," _Madame_ Giry announced. And then the woman smiled at her.

Sophie looked down at the gown and smiled. She felt beautiful in it, even if the bodice was cut lower than she'd have chosen. She only had a moment to marvel at the feeling of wearing her wedding gown until _Madame_ Giry was demanding that she take it off again. The old woman unlaced the back and helped her remove the garments and then they were hung up into the wardrobe for airing out.

Sophie picked her clothes up off the floor and quickly redressed.

" _Madame_ Giry, I wondered if you might wait for me to write a note, and then take my reply to Erik? If it is not too much trouble," she asked, unsure of the woman's response. Sophie considered the woman's cane and bad knee and the terrible amount of stairs that would be involved. She felt selfish for even asking for such a favor.

To her relief _Madame_ Giry only paused for a moment before nodding.

"I'll wait for you in the sitting room," the woman notified her, and then the ballet mistress left and closed the door behind her.

Sophie sat at the little desk in the room and took out a sheet of paper and the pen and ink set from the drawer. She dipped the pen in the ink pot and set it to the paper and wrote.

 _Dearest,_

 _The wedding gown is absolutely lovely and delightful. Madame Giry has advised me that it fits well and will not require any alterations. I must protest, however, that the neckline is quite scandalous. If the priest dies of shame upon seeing me in it then you have been forewarned and must agree to bear all of the blame. I may be a very bad Catholic but even I do not want to add 'caused the untimely demise of a brother of the priesthood and the physical manifestation of the voice of God' to my list of sins._

 _I am overjoyed that we have come to a date and that the closing of the house is going well. Although I find that I am curious as to what furniture has been left behind. Has the solicitor provided you with a list or summary or some idea of what is included? And do you think that it would be best to obtain the rest of what we need here, or shall we complete the furnishing upon arrival to our new home? I must confess that I feel lost and useless here. I have never handled this aspect of a household before and I do not wish to disappoint you._

 _Nadir is a wonderful host and Darius has become Emma's fast companion. He speaks to her! Imagine my surprise when I heard the man's voice for the very first time. I nearly slid off of my chair in shock. She greatly enjoys his stories of Persia and their travels through the Middle East and Orient. Now that she has heard about tigers she likes to crawl around on the ground and nip at everyone's ankles. She pretends now that she is a ferocious jungle beast, much to everyone's dismay. She still cries at night and misses mamman and her papa so we ignore our sore ankles. Nadir will spoil her rotten if we are not careful. I think that he enjoys having a child in the house again. I have told her a little of what is happening. She is so young and she has been through so much. I did not wish to give her too many changes too fast. But now that we have a date set I will continue to work on preparing her. I've told her that we can plant a garden and grow whatever flowers she'd like. She says that she wants to grow an entire field of only sunflowers._

 _Maman's funeral went as well as can be expected. My neighbors Madame and Monsieur Durant came to pay their respects. My stepfather came and made an ass of himself, as I expected he would. I have not seen or heard from him since. Nadir has threatened to whip the man if he sees him again. The old Daroga has some spark left in him yet!_

 _The baby and I are fine. Nadir has completely saturated me with tea and croissants and now that I have caught up on my sleep and rest I feel fully restored. The morning sickness is only in the mornings now. It is a good thing that our wedding is merely two weeks away or I would surely not fit into my lovely dress!_

 _With all my love,_

 _Your Sophie_

 _P.S. please send more of that gingered tea when you are able._


	30. Chapter 30

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 30

Erik had already sorted through all of the books and sheets of music. They had been separated into _keep_ and _burn_ piles accordingly. He'd inspected the automatons, which had been spared from his wrath for the most part, and the oriental vases and sculptures, which had not escaped his wrath at all, and he added those to the _keep_ and _discard_ piles accordingly. The _discard_ pile grew into a small mountain. The _keep_ pile was rather small. But this didn't bother Erik. He'd never been one to get too attached to objects. Most of the things here had been pilfered anyways, so it was no great loss to him that much of it was now ruined.

He picked up the birdcage automaton and added it carefully to the _keep_ pile.

His attention was diverted from his task when the secret entrance opened. Erik's hand reached reflexively for his punjab lasso but he left it in his pocket when he saw that it was _Madame_ Giry who was climbing through the mirror's frame. The old ballet mistress was clutching her ribs and breathing hard from the trek as she leaned her cane against the wall.

Erik felt himself grow still and deadly. Had something happened? Why was she here, twice in one day? He had no more errands for her to run today.

"Here, another note," she said as she held up a mildly crumpled, folded letter in his direction . Erik set down the metal clockwork birdcage and walked over to _Madame_ Giry and retrieved it from her hand.

Erik ignored the old woman's groans and muttered expletives as he cracked the plain wax seal on the letter and unfolded the pages.

"There's tea on the stove," he offered, only half paying attention to Madame Giry as his eyes scanned the pages quickly for any hint of trouble. There was none that he could find, and so the still, quiet, patient rage that lived somewhere deep within him calmed itself and vanished back into its nook.

 _Madame_ Giry stepped over and around the debris and disappeared into the kitchen.

Erik leaned his hip against the desk and read the letter slower now. The tension that had gripped his heart relaxed. He may have even smiled a little. Sophie and their baby were both fine. She liked her dress. He would have happily slaughtered the priest himself if the man's death were necessary in order to see her in that dress. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards at the thought.

 _Madame_ Giry gasped softly beside him. He hadn't even heard her approach. Silently he chastised himself for having grown so lax and careless.

"I think that's the first time I've ever seen you smile," the old woman said in an incredulous sounds voice.

Erik glowed at her and folded the note back up and shoved it into his pocket.

 _Madame_ Giry sipped her cup of tea, but the edge of the cup couldn't mask the upturn of the corners of her mouth. Was she happy for him? That seemed unlikely. Their relationship was strictly professional in nature. Erik did not have… friends; Only acquaintances who were sometimes useful.

"All seems well. Everything is going according to my plan," he said neutrally.

The woman stood there and sipped her tea and tried to hide her smile from him. Erik glowed at her menacingly again, but the old woman's expression never changed.

"It is good to see you happy, Erik," she said in a friendly manner.

Happy? Him? But now that he thought about it he had to reluctantly agree. He did feel content… Maybe even happy. Still, it would not do to have _Madame_ Giry meddling in his private affairs. He must have stern words with her to make sure that she snapped back into line. It wouldn't do for her to think that she could overstep the boundaries of their acquaintance.

"Have you thought about names for the baby yet?" she asked rather suddenly.

Erik was legitimately shocked. He felt his jaw drop open until he regained his composure again and resumed a carefully constructed air of indifference.

"I hardly see how that is any of your business," he snapped at her.

 _Madame_ Giry practically smirked at him in between sips of tea.

"And how the devil did you know? Did Sophie tell you?" he demanded.

"A mother knows when another woman has that special glow of happiness about her. Besides, I helped the girl dress into that scandalous gown you picked. I saw her figure. Really, Erik, could you have cut the bodice any deeper? It's indecent. You'll give the priest palpitations," she chided him.

Erik smirked to himself. "Yes, that's rather the point," he drawled lazily as images of Sophie in that dress came to mind.

"At least you had the decency to choose ivory, and not white," the old ballet mistress said, a little catty.

Erik was standing at attention then, his posture erect and stiff, his hands flexing at his sides. "That will be enough of that," he asserted fiercely. He narrowed his eyes at her and was pleased when he saw the woman hesitate. "You'll keep a civil tongue in your head when you speak to Sophie or you might find it missing one day," he threatened evenly. He only half meant it.

 _Madame_ Giry nonchalantly took a sip of tea. "Calm down, Erik, I've been nothing but pleasant to the girl," she placate him. "I know how you feel about her, however…" she began but then her voice trailed off into nothing.

"Just say it, woman," he barked.

"A woman knows certain things, Erik, things that a man might overlook in passion or ignorance. But I wonder if _you_ know. Are you aware that Sophie has had another child in the past? I saw the marks of it on her body," she stated plainly.

Erik was quiet, and then he laughed. He felt himself relax. Was that all?

"Yes I am aware," he divulged.

 _Madame_ Giry looked at him with her sharp, suspicious eyes, then. They stared at one another in silence.

"So you are," she murmured finally. "Well that is good news. I had hoped that you had not been deceived. I would hate to see you taken advantage of," she explained.

Erik stared at her incredulously. Him? Taken advantage of? By Sophie? The idea seemed preposterous.

Erik told her just as much.

Madame Giry set the tea cup on the nearest horizontal surface, then gestured around the cave, "if the idea was truly so preposterous then why the rage? Why all of this destruction? Clearly you were not so convinced just three weeks ago. She returns, and all is forgiven and forgotten? Sophie has come into you life so abruptly. You have only known each other for a little while. Yet all of a sudden, everything is changing. It's all a little fast, don't you think?"

Erik wrestled with himself for control. The worst part of _Madame_ Giry's speech was that she was not wrong. It was all happening rather fast. Things had changed dramatically. But if he was happy, finally, then was it all so wrong? Did he not deserve happiness like any other man? A wife, a little house, a child?

 _Madame_ Giry wavered on her feet as if she was ambivalent in deciding whether to step forward to console him in his despair, or retreat swiftly from his anger.

He looked about the cavern and saw the wreckage that he'd created. All of the beautiful things that he'd destroyed. He grimaced, and didn't try to hide it from her.

"I believe she loves you, and I believe her when she says that the child is yours. There was no guilt or shame in her eyes when I questioned her," _Madame_ Giry finally said, her voice gentle and reassuring.

He looked at her sharply, "you questioned her on my behalf?"

She looked surprised at that. "How could I not? I am your friend, even if you forget it sometimes. Can you imagine what would have happened if she had tried to dupe you into raising another man's child? I look around me and I see the destruction that occurred when you thought that she had simply run away from you. I couldn't let an innocent child be thrown into a potentially volatile situation. I'd have have never forgiven myself," she said resolutely.

"Are we? Friends, I mean. After all, you led the mob to me. You gave away my secrets," he said softly, while looking at anything and anywhere but at her.

"Oh, Erik. Don't you remember? You made me promise. My number one task was to see that Christine was kept safe and free from harm. She was to be my priority. That's why I raised Christine like she was my second child. And I grew to love her, too. She was a sweet, dear thing. But when you kidnapped her and tried to kill the Vicomte it was you who had become the one who was endangering her. I led them down here because I was saving her from you, as you made me swear to do. I was keeping my promise to you. Do you honestly think that I'd have led them down here if I thought they'd actually catch and kill you? You were no good down here; this isolation made everything worse. It exacerbated your worst qualities, and suppressed your best ones. I hope that with Sophie you can find real happiness, Erik. Truly, you deserve happiness and love" she told him softly.

Erik was overcome with emotion at the woman's heartfelt speech. And he was startled from his thoughts when the old ballet mistress closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him. Erik let her hug him and raised one hand to pat her on her shoulders. It was, perhaps, the closest he would ever come to hugging her back.

"Thank you, Antoinette,"

She pulled apart from him and looked up at him. Seconds stretched until her gaze became uncomfortable. But still she stared up at him. He was clueless as to what she was trying to ascertain.

"You've done much growing up," She announced finally.

"I'm thirty-seven. I don't think that I'm going to get any taller," he replied sarcastically.

She rolled her eyes at him and sighed and looked thoroughly put upon.

He chuckled.

"There is a child coming, Erik. You will not be the most important person in your own life anymore. There are sacrifices that must be made. You will give up pieces of yourself for them, and they will not appreciate it. They may not even know that it was given. And it is your job as a father to provide for them and give those sacrifices willingly," she instructed in her mother's voice.

Erik looked at her dubiously. This all seemed rather overly dramatic.

"You doubt me? Well… you'll see. In the meantime I suggest that you practice gaining control over your temper. You can't trash your home every time you get upset," she goaded.

Erik felt his ire rising. He had not trashed his home every time he got upset. Twice! In all of the years that he'd lived underneath the opera house he'd only wrecked it twice. Well… three times if you included burning down the opera house itself. And that other incident with the chandelier...

He grimaced again and closed his eyes and counted until the feeling passed. When he opened them again he saw that Antoinette was staring at him as if she'd never seen him before.

"That's an excellent start," she murmured, stunned.

Erik felt proud of himself as she said it, then realized how ridiculous that was. He was a grown man. He'd been the master of his own fate since he was a child. He'd built palaces and an opera house and composed more beautiful, amazing masterpieces in over thirty years of composing, more than most other artists would finish in a lifetime. He had moulded a chorus girl with some natural talent into a star soprano. He'd masterminded an entire opera house for over a decade. He'd escaped certain death at least twice.

But still... it had felt nice to have one's efforts be appreciated.

"If you're done mothering me now then I have another task for you," he informed her.

 _Madame_ Giry groaned.


	31. Chapter 31

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 31

Sophie was a little surprised when she left the guest bedroom and found _Madame_ Giry sitting in the front sitting room drinking tea with Nadir.

" _Bonjour_ ," Sophie greeted the old woman politely.

 _Madame_ Giry nodded her head regally in a silent reply.

Sophie stepped forward and poured herself a cup of gingered tea from the smaller pot beside the the larger one that Nadir and _Madame_ Giry were enjoying. She put three sugar cubes into the cup and stirred it as she took her seat.

"Good morning, Sophie," Nadir said in return.

She sipped the tea slowly and enjoyed the way the sweet, spicy warmth settled her stomach. If she drank a cup or two of the tea slowly, then in about one hour later she would feel well enough to eat. It was the only relief that she'd found for her morning sickness so far.

" _Madame_ Giry tells me that she has come to take you shopping, my dear, and then tonight we will all dine together with Erik" Nadir explained.

Sophie brightened at that thought. It had been days since she'd seen Erik. How nice it would be to dine together like a family. And Emma had been asking about when she would meet him. Tonight was as good a night as any, she supposed. She thought for a moment about the other half of that sentence then nodded and sipped her tea. "For the furniture, yes. Erik told me as much in his letter. I hadn't realized that would be today but I can get myself and Emma ready in a half hour," she offered as she drank the rest of her tea.

"Furniture? Oh no, _mademoiselle_ , today we will tackle your wardrobes. Erik relays that he has sent an inquiry to the solicitor in regards to the furniture. He expects a prompt reply," the woman mentioned matter of factly.

"Splendid," Nadir chimed in as he poured himself another cup of tea. "Darius can drive you in the carriage," he offered.

Sophie agreed and drank the rest of her cooling tea then set her empty tea cup down and excused herself.

When Sophie returned to the guest bedroom she found Emma sprawled out across the entire bed, a limb pointed to each corner post. Sophie had to stifle a laugh at the sight of the little girl made. Quickly she changed, shrugging out of the dark green morning wrapper and into her corset and petticoats and the sea foam green dress that Erik had sent to her via Darius one morning.

The dress had become awfully tight in certain spots. In a few more weeks it would need to be put away until after the baby was born.

Once dressed Sophie sat on the edge of the bed and gently brushed her hand along the little girl's shoulder.

"Good morning, sleepy head," Sophie murmured as the little girl tried to shrug the hand off and roll over in the bed in sleep. "Time to rise," She called again, "we are going shopping for new dresses."

"New dresses?" Emma repeated sleepily as she suddenly sat up in bed. Well that had certainly caught the little girl's attention.

Emma rubbed the sleep from her eyes and allowed Sophie to dress her in a worn dress. It was a good thing that they were going shopping for their wardrobe. This dress wouldn't last much longer. Already it was a little too short in the hem and sleeves. In a few months it would be unwearable.

Once both of them were dressed they made their way to the sitting room. _Madame_ Giry rose from the sofa at their entrance and Darius stepped forward to hand Sophie a parcel of food wrapped in a white linen handkerchief. Sophie unwrapped it and handed a flaky, buttery croissant to Emma who devoured it immediately, then licked her fingers clean. Sophie wrapped her own croissant back up in the square of cloth and placed it into the hidden pocket of her skirt. She'd eat later once her stomach settled a bit more.

Nadir looked up from his morning paper and nodded and smiled at them before he returned his attention to his news.

"Ready?" _Madame_ Giry inquired, and then at Sophie's nod they made their exit.

Darius was waiting for them out front with the carriage. Because of _Madame_ Giry's presence Sophie allowed him to help her and Emma into the carriage.

The trip was silent for the two women but Emma chattered enough for the three of them. The girl's little legs were swinging back and forth from where she sat on the bench. Emma was enchanted by the carriage and the horse and loved it whenever they used it for their errands.

A little while later they stopped outside of a row of ladies shops: a dressmaker, a cobbler, a glover, a hat maker, and even a habedashery for little items and sewing supplies. The door of the carriage opened and then Nadir was helping the ladies down.

"Wait here for us," _Madame_ Giry ordered, a bit unnecessarily.

Darius gave them a small bow and then proceeded to busy himself with settling the horse.

 _Madame_ Giry led the way and the sea of idling Parisian shoppers cleared a path for them in the wake of the loud tapping of the fierce woman's cane against the cobblestones. The old woman parted through the crowd of finely dressed men and women like Moses dividing the dead sea. Sophie grabbed Emma's small hand in her own and together they followed.

Their first stop was the dressmaker. Despite the early hour the shop was alive with customers. Sophie and _Madame_ Giry and Emma made their way slowly through the crush of women who were saturating every nook and cranny of the crowded shop.

"Perhaps we should return another day? When the shop is less busy?" Sophie thought to herself out loud.

"Nonsense!" _Madame_ Giry rejected the idea forcefully. "You are getting married in just ten days. It is already challenging enough to furnish an entire wardrobe and household in such little time. And my free time is not infinite. I have my own affairs to attend to as well," the woman huffed.

Sophie, adequately chastised by the old, intimidating ballet mistress, was not surprised at all when the old woman struck her cane against the floor and a sales girl who'd been running by with an armful of fabric bolts stopped dead in her tracks and turned to address them cordially.

" _Bon_ jo _ur_ ," the sales girl said breathily as she curtsied, "How may I assist you?" The shop girl shifted the mound of fabric bolts in her arms. The top most one nearly threatened to topple off of the pile.

 _Madame_ Giry grabbed her long graying braid and laid it over her shoulder. "We are in need of a complete wardrobe for these two young ladies. And multiple sizes for the young _mademoiselle_ to grow into. We will also need gowns for expanding, and clothes for an infant," she barked.

"Sophie is going to have a baby," Emma chimed in, to clear up any lingering confusion.

"Congratulations!" The shop girl said in reply. "Follow me and I will see you to a fitting room. One of the girls will take your measurements and then we will discuss the particulars."

The shop girl led the three of them to the back of the shop and ushered Sophie and Emma into one of the curtained off areas for changing. She instructed them to remove their dresses but to leave their undergarments on. _Madame_ Giry was offered a seat on the little velvet sofa in the middle of the fitting room.

Sophie helped Emma out of her dress first and then removed her own. She placed them up on hooks on the only wall of the curtained off area. A moment later a woman was announcing that she was coming into the dressing room and then the curtain was pulled aside just briefly enough to let the fitting woman in. The woman took their measurements and jotted notes on a pad of paper, then she disappeared as quickly as she'd come.

Sophie overheard _Madame_ Giry discussing the particulars in hushed tones with the sales woman.

The fitting woman returned a few moments later with her arms laden with half-finished gowns. They dressed Emma first and both women were pleased with the cut and length of the simple cornflower blue cotton summer dress. Sophie's dress was next. Once the fitting woman had enclosed Sophie into the plain but pretty dusty rose day dress she clipped the back into place the two girls were ushered out of the slit in the curtain for _Madame_ Giry's appraisal.

"Lovely," _Madame_ Giry announced in a pleased voice, "that color brings out the fire in your hair, Sophie."

Sophie smiled and smoothed out a wrinkle in her skirts, then turned to check the fit of Emma's sleeve, but the fitting woman was already ushering them both back into the changing room and unclipping their gowns.

The fitting woman was motioning for her to return and disrobe. And then they were onto the next gown.

The summer dresses were whisked away and then heavier winter gowns were being put onto them next. The high waist of the dress and the pleats on the front fabric would allow additional room for Sophie's expanding stomach and the fabric was thick enough to keep her warm during the fall and winter months. Sophie counted on her fingers and determined that the baby would be due sometime around Christmas. This dress would likely be the one that she would wear the most after the heat of Summer ended. The fitting woman's fingers were deft and quick and both girls were dressed and clipped and ushered back out.

 _Madame_ Giry nodded silently and the girls returned to the fitting room. Their dresses were unclipped and pulled up over their heads. And then the fitting woman was selecting the next gowns for them to try on. Out came a fine, silk, butter yellow evening gown edged in cream French lace and a beaded fringe. Emma was similarly dressed in a petal pink silk dress. The dresses were clipped closed and Sophie lifted up the skirts to step through the slit in the curtain. She was relieved to see _Madame_ Giry's half-smile and nod of approval.

"We look like princesses, Sophie," Emma said and sighed happily as she twirled in front of the full length standing mirror.

"Will I really need such a fine evening gown?" Sophie asked. It seemed an odd choice to her. When would she wear it at their little country home?

 _Madame_ Giry waved her hand as a dismissal. "I've received my orders. I do not question _him_ ," was her response. "Hmm… the silhouette is nice, but the color... perhaps a forest green instead of yellow? And a second one in wine," _Madame_ Giry suggested.

"A customization of this gown in other colors would take four or five weeks with our current schedule," the fitting woman informed them.

"That is far too much time. We need everything ready within ten days," _Madame_ Giry announced.

The fitting woman sputtered that ten days was not nearly enough time to complete such a large order, even without adding in customized gowns. "Perhaps if you narrowed your selection down to one or two gowns or chose specifically from the _prêt_ _-à-_ _porter_ line that we offer…"

 _Madame_ Giry silenced the woman with a stern look. "We have the funds to pay for the inconvenience," she said, ending the discussion.

The fitting woman looked back and forth between Sophie and _Madame_ Giry. "I… would need to speak with my manager to see if such an arrangement would be possible… excuse me," the woman said as she left them.

 _Madame_ Giry stood and followed the woman through the dividing curtain and into the main portion of the shop, her cane clicking against the hardwood floor with each step. Sophie was convinced that if anyone could maneuver the shopkeeper into compliance that it was the old, stern ballet mistress. That woman seemed capable of just about anything. In truth, she intimidated Sophie a little.

"Sophie, are these dresses really going to be ours?" Emma asked her as she did another twirl in front of the mirror, the skirts of her silk gown spinning out in a circle around her.

The curtain of another dressing room slid open on the far end of the room and Sophie glanced up as a brunette woman was led by another fitting woman over to them and the floor length mirror.

"Take a look, _Madame_ ," the other fitting woman instructed.

"Emma, out of the way, come to me," Sophie called out to the little twirling girl.

Emma pouted but left the mirror and joined Sophie.

"She looks like a princess too!" Emma said, her voice full of wonder. Indeed, the woman really did look like a princess. The woman's gown was a pale, icy shade of blue. It showed off her delicate, curvy frame and bared her decolletage where a star shaped diamond pendant hung down at the hollow of her throat. The skirt of the dress was full and layers of the gauzy, sheer fabric had been pulled up and pinned into place with beaded crystal accents. The entirety of the outfit made the woman look like a glittering star who'd fallen to Earth; beautiful. and shining, and radiant. The woman's long, brown curls were pinned gracefully to the side with matching star shaped clips.

The young woman turned from where she stood in front of the mirror and smiled down sweetly at Emma.

"Thank you, little _mademoiselle_. I love your dress as well. You look lovely in pink," the beautiful woman said kindly.

Emma smiled shyly and hid behind Sophie's skirts. Sophie placed a reassuring hand on the little girl's head and smiled at the woman.

"Perfection, Comtesse, absolute perfection. You look divine. Your husband will be very pleased. Just a few minor alterations, nothing complicated. Let me just get my pins and we will mark those now," the other fitting woman flattered the young lady, and then excused herself.

The young Comtesse turned away from the mirror to face Sophie. "Tell me the truth, is it too much? I must admit that I'm not used to this process at all. I let these seamstresses talk me into these gowns and then I try them on and I feel a little bit like a fraud," she said with an embarrassed blush.

"Don't look to me! I'm not used to the process either, I'm afraid. Although I must agree, you look absolutely lovely. It's not too much at all. And Emma is right, you do look like a princess," Sophie remarked, and smiled.

The young Comtesse turned back to the mirror and adjusted the bodice of her gown.

The click of _Madame_ Giry's approaching cane diverted Sophie's attention.

"It's all been sorted out, my child," _Madame_ Giry called out as she stepped through the curtain that divided the fitting rooms from the front of the shop.

" _Madame_ Giry?" the young Comtesse asked in a shocked voice. "My goodness, it is so wonderful to see you after all this time. How have you been?"

Sophie, puzzled, looked between the beautiful young woman and the old ballet mistress. She took in _Madame_ Giry's pale, surprised face.

"Christine?" _Madame_ Giry said breathily. "What are you doing here?"

Sophie's head snapped up at this and she gasped audibly. Both women turned to look at her.

"Sophie…" _Madame_ Giry cautioned her, her voice low and strange.

Christine? Erik's Christine? Sophie looked at the young, beautiful Comtesse more closely now. She studied the woman and didn't care if she was being rude. They were of similar height and build. Perhaps Christine was little more willowy, her shoulders and hips slightly less broad than Sophie's even before the pregnancy. Sophie was a little shorter as well. But Christine had been a dancer, once upon a time, before she became a singer. Erik had told her the whole sordid story. It made sense, then, that they would look so similar. Afterall, she'd worn the woman's cast off dresses enough times to know that they could probably pass for sisters. A ballet dancer, turned chorus girl, turned star Soprano. Of course she would be beautiful. And radiant. And lovely. Of course Erik would have fallen in love with the girl who he had secretly tutored for years. Who wouldn't? Christine was all pale skin and lithe bodied and innocent faced with her big, doe eyes and full, kissable lips. But knowing something and being confronted with the reality of it were two completely different things. It felt different, anyways. It felt like a dagger being stuck between her ribs and twisted.

The Comtesse stood there in her glorious, glittering gown and looked confused as she glanced between Sophie and _Madame_ Giry. "Do you know this woman, _Madame_ Giry?" Christine asked, perplexed.

Sophie felt the bile rising and burning in her throat. She placed a hand to her mouth. Pale faced and feeling faint Sophie turned to _Madame_ Giry. "I think I'm going to be sick," she announced with just enough warning to be ushered away before she caused a scene.

* * *

The rest of the day's shopping passed by in a blur of activity. _Madame_ Giry was left to make the vast majority of the decisions. They purchased evening gowns, day dresses, walking length skirts and white lawn shirts, stockings and garters, a set of pregnancy stays that would expand with her belly but still offer support, lacy underthings, shoes, boots, a straw hat for summer, two pairs of kidskin leather gloves, one in black and the other in a soft, tawny brown, and a fur lined cape for winter. Emma was similarly purchased for, and Sophie idly wondered if there would be enough days in the year to wear as many clothes as they'd purchased today. When the bill was presented Sophie thought that she would surely faint, but _Madame_ Giry handled it without batting a single eyelash at the exorbitant sum.

Box, after box, after box was brought out by shop girls and handed to Darius who fitted them onto the back storage area of the carriage. The carriage looked ridiculous covered in pink ladies boxes tied shut with bows.

Whenever Sophie closed her eyes she saw the image of Christine reflected in her mind's eye and the sour feeling in her stomach returned. It took all of her strength and resolve to keep herself calm on the outside. Inside, she was screaming. But she refused to make a scene or ruin the day. Not when Emma was so happy and cheerful for the first time since maman's passing. And the shopping had to get done in preparation for their move anyways. Delaying it would merely agitate _Madame_ Giry and gain her nothing.

The words played over and over again in her mind as they shopped the day away. _Madame_ Giry had excused the bout of illness and blamed it on Sophie's pregnancy. Sophie, the old ballet mistress had explained, was her daughter Meg's new friend.

The Comtesse had assured them that she understood the morning sickness all too well and had been similarly ill when she was carrying her son, the new little Vicomte de Chagny. Christine had finished her business and wished Sophie well, then quietly left. Christine had paused in her exit only briefly to wish _Madame_ Giry good health and to offer the old woman and her daughter Meg a chance to catch up one day over tea or coffee.

The carriage, loaded up and heavier than it had been when they'd left that morning, returned Sophie and _Madame_ Giry and Emma to the house on the Rue de Rivoli. Darius carried the packages inside silently. Emma chased after him, insisting on helping him.

 _Madame_ Giry grabbed Sophie by the shoulders and looked her squarely in the eyes.

"Sophie, I understand that you must be quite shaken today, but I hope that you understand me clearly when I say that it would be best for everyone involved if you kept… certain elements of today to yourself. No good could come of mentioning Christine's name," the old woman cautioned her.

"I understand," Sophie whispered.

In truth, she did not need to be told this. But it confirmed her worst fears. How long had _Madame_ Giry known Erik? Ten years? Twenty? If the woman was cautioning her to keep this to herself then the ballet mistress must also fear that there was some small part of Erik that still loved Christine. After all, she and Erik hadn't known each other that long. Things were all happening so very fast. Everything was suddenly changing. And Erik had been Christine's tutor for years. If what he'd told her was true then he'd watched the girl grow up. Feelings don't just entirely disappear when they run that deep. The knife twisted a little further and Sophie felt her eyes misting. She blinked rapidly to disguise it and turned away from _Madame_ Giry to follow Darius into the house.

* * *

Sophie dressed for dinner and was sitting on the bed with Emma as she ran a hair brush through the little girl's tangled brown curls. Emma groaned and made faces.

"That hurts!" the little girl complained when the hairbrush was caught in a particularly nasty tangle.

Sophie relaxed the hairbrush in her hand and used her fingers to break the snarl apart instead.

"I'm sorry. I think I'm just a little nervous for tonight," Sophie murmured as she smoothed the curls.

"Because I finally get to meet Erik?" Emma asked.

"Because I hope very much that you two will like each other," Sophie answered.

"What's he like?" Emma questioned.

Sophie freed the tangle then set the brush back into the girl's hair. "He can be so kind… and so generous… and he has the most amazing voice that I've ever heard," she answered honestly. "He plays music, and he can draw, and paint… and he builds the most amazing little machines that play music and move when you wind up their key."

"I would like to see that!" Emma exclaimed.

Sophie set the hairbrush down and smoothed Emma's long, curly hair into a thick braid. "You will. And maybe if you ask very nicely he will build you one that is just for you," she said softly.

She braided the girl's hair and tied it off with a ribbon. When she was done Emma turned on the bed to smile at Sophie.

"Now, remember what I told you this morning. Erik's face is different and it makes him shy. He wears a mask to cover it because people stare. So it wouldn't be polite to stare at it and make him nervous," Sophie explained.

Emma nodded and promised to behave.

* * *

Dinner was a rather somber affair as they ate in tense silence. _Madame_ Giry sat stiffly in the chair beside Emma. The little girl was sandwiched between Sophie and the old ballet mistress, leaving the gentlemen together on the other side of the table. Sophie tried to smile reassuringly at Erik, who seemed nervous. Emma, as usual, was oblivious and chattered on and on about one of Nadir's neighbor's little dogs.

"It's the cutest thing ever!" the little girl squealed. "He has the biggest ears I've ever seen on such a little dog and his fur sticks out like this," she said excitedly as she put her hands beside her face and imitated the papillon's fur with her wiggling fingers. "His name is Reginald, which is a stupid name for a dog. If I had a dog I'd name it Princess or Buttercup or something funny and not just some stupid, boring person name," she declared.

Emma paused her chatter and turned to Sophie.

"Sophie, could we get a dog? Since we're moving to the country? I promise I'd feed it and take it for walks!" Emma begged.

Sophie looked at Emma in surprise, then turned her head to glance between the little girl and Erik. "Um... I'm not certain that… we haven't discussed…" she stammered uncertainly. Sophie looked about the dining table but both Nadir and _Madame_ Giry were shoving forkfuls of food into their mouths to avoid participation. _Traitors_.

Erik shrugged. "I'm not adverse to dogs," he said. And then he turned to Emma. "Do you like cats as well?" he questioned the little girl.

Emma pondered this before she nodded and declared that she liked cats as well as dogs.

"I have a cat. Her name is Ayesha. I think that you will like her very much," he added.

"Does she catch mice?" Emma inquired.

Erik looked at the little girl with a puzzled expression on the unmasked portion of his face. "Not particularly. She's fonder of rats," he replied truthfully.

"I like this cat already," Emma announced.

Sophie smiled down at her and chuckled, to everyone else's confusion.

* * *

After dinner was finished Nadir announced that the evening's balmy spring weather was far too pleasant to ignore by sitting cooped up inside. He asked if Madame Giry and Emma would like to go for an evening stroll with him to settle their stomachs. Emma agreed, but only if Darius joined them. Nadir bowed his head and relented, and so the four of them left Sophie and Erik alone to an empty house.

"That went well," Erik summarized in a cautious sounding voice.

Sophie smiled weakly and grabbed her empty water glass and the half finished bottle of white wine. She poured it half full and set the bottle back down on the table.

Erik reached one long arm across the table and plucked the glass of wine from her hand.

"I was planning to drink that," she said, peeved. After the emotional ups and downs of the day and the relief that Erik and Emma's first meeting had gone very well she'd been looking forward to winding the hectic day down with one glass of wine. Nadir never kept any in the house, but _Madame_ Giry had brought it with her for that evening's dinner.

"It's not good for the baby," he disagreed as he set the glass down out of her reach.

Sophie huffed her annoyance. "Since when? I've never heard of such a thing," she argued.

"Tell me what's wrong, Sophie," he demanded softly.

Sophie felt her eyes pricking with unshed tears again. Instead of answering him she gathered up hers and Emma's plates and carried them into the kitchen to set them in the sink. Erik followed silently behind her and shocked her when she turned around to gather the rest of the dishes.

"Do you think… did it not go well? I thought that it went very well. I can see you in her, you know. She's wonderful," he added when Sophie kept silent.

"It's not that," she reassured him as she closed her eyes and reached back behind her to steady herself against the sink.

Erik stepped forward and pressed her against the sink, his hands moving to either side of her as he trapped her there. "I've missed you more than you can know," he whispered.

Sophie closed her eyes and saw Christine, beautiful, shining, wondrous Christine in her mind's eye again. Her eyes flew back open and found his. He was staring at her worriedly. His eyes were full of love and concern. Sophie felt the twisting of the dagger stop.

"Are you alright? Is it the baby?" he asked, his voice a little desperate sounding.

Sophie let go of the counter and reached up to cup his face in her hands. Erik closed the tiny gap between them and pressed her backside into the counter's lip. His hand rose and cupped hers around his face.

"The baby and I are fine," she told him. He sighed and Sophie saw the tension leave his face.

"What is it, then? I can't help if you don't tell me what's the matter. You're not… having second thoughts… are you?" he asked.

Sophie's eyes widened at that. "No!" she said loudly.

"What, then?" he asked again.

How could she tell him? That she'd seen his first love today and felt lacking in comparison. That she wondered if a part of him loved Christine even still and always would. That he'd realize one day that she was a second rate replacement. Shorter, broader, not as pretty, less talented by far. That she worried that he'd lose his attraction to her once her belly was swollen and she'd gotten fat. That Christine, even after having a child, was lithe and tall and as softly curved as a water nymph. That she and Erik had only known each other for a few months and did anyone really know if they truly loved someone after such a short time?

But when he looked at her that way, with love in his eyes and concern written on his face, it made her knees weak and it send pulses to the place between her legs that ached for him to fill it. She felt wanton and sinful whenever she heard his rich, silky voice wash over her. Her nipples tightened whenever he came near to her. He was music itself and he enchanted her with every word he spoke or sang.

"The pregnancy makes my mood volatile," she said instead. "That's all," she lied. "I missed you too," she said, and then she pulled him down for a kiss as she stood up on her tiptoes to meet him halfway.

Erik's lips were like velvet on hers as he returned her kiss.

Sophie pulled back to look at him. "Just tell me that you love me," she asked of him.

"You know I do," he replied.

And then Erik was the one who was kissing her. His mouth was soft yet firm against her lips and Sophie wrapped her arms around his neck to draw him even closer. His hands wrapped around her as he leaned her back against the sink. She let her fingers move away from his face and caressed the thick lines of his neck as he strained against her in their kiss.

Her nipples tightened painfully and the junction between her thighs pulsed again in response. Suddenly she was wet and ready for him. It didn't take very much to do that to her lately. Sophie let her hands roam the strong lines of his neck and shoulders before she lowered them down his front. Her fingers slid under his jacket and felt the narrowing of his waist and stomach. By the time that her hands made it to his thighs she felt him, hard and stiff, against her palm. He was ready too.

Erik's hands were roaming over her body too as he pressed her back against the sink. One of his legs slid forward and spread her legs wider apart.

"We have to hurry," she whispered against his mouth as he kissed her. "They could be back at any moment," she said. And she was surprised at the feeling of the wetness between her thighs as it increased in that thought. They could be caught at any moment. The idea was more thrilling than it should have been.

Instead of carrying her to the bedroom as she'd expected Erik wrapped his arms around her eve tighter. He lifted her up in the air and pushed her back slightly to sit on the edge of the sink.

Sophie released him to grasp the lip of the porcelain kitchen sink in order to keep her precarious balance. Erik was busy fumbling with her skirts. He lifted the layers of fabric and bunched them up around her thighs. And then his fingers were on her inner thighs as they probed for the slit in her drawers and he found her wet, throbbing folds. His finger found her and tested her and Sophie threw her head back at the rightness of the feeling as he sank one finger deep into her core. She whimpered when his hand withdrew until she heard more rustling of fabric and then his hard, firm length was pushing into her and filling her completely, stretching her. The aching between her legs increased instead of abating as he filled her to her so completely. She dropped her head and met his eyes as they gazed at each other while he seated himself inside of her.

One of his arms wrapped around her waist to hold her to him as he thrust himself inside of her and withdrew slowly. She moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder as he thrust against her again and again. His fingers dropped lower down her back until he was grabbing her backside firmly and pressing her against him even tighter. Sophie tilted her hips in response and smiled into his shoulder when he groaned. His thrusting increased as he pushed in and out of her. Sophie's breathing hitched when he thrust and ground against her and his pubic bone hit that bundle of nerves that made her toes curl.

"Oh god," she moaned, "do that again," she begged him.

Erik pulled out and thrust again then ground his hips against her. Sophie moaned again in response and wrapped her legs around him to lock him into place. She desperately wanted him to do that again. It was like nothing she'd ever felt before.

He did it again and Sophie felt her insides quiver in response. She arched her back away from him as she balanced on the edge of the sink. He widened his stance in reply and ground against her, his strong arms steadying her.

Their eyes met and held as he thrust in and out of her, hitting that spot again and again. Sophie felt that now familiar pleasure building as she ground against him whenever he thrust himself inside of her fully. She rode him as he pumped in and out of her and worked against her.

She widened her knees even more to let him seat himself more deeply as she adjusted the way her legs were wrapped around him. Erik groaned at the added depth as he slid in and out of her and ground against her pleasure spot. Sophie moaned in response. Her hips had a mind of their own then as she increased their pace. Her pleasure was building, the coil tightening itself tighter and tighter within her as Erik thrust against her. Sophie heard their ragged breathing as it filled the room.

"Oh God, yes, Erik. It feels so good, don't stop," she begged him. He pumped and ground against her until he hit the end of her. Sophie moaned at the mix of pleasure and pain as he filled her completely and stretched her to her limits.

"Fuck me, Erik. Oh God, I love you," she moaned into his ear as his pace increased even more. His hips jerked wildly against hers as his eyes closed against the pleasure. Sophie threw her head back and rode his thick, hard length as he thrust in and out of her. And then with another grind of his hips and another thrust against her pelvis she cried out and spasmed around him as the wave of pleasure washed over her and carried her fears and doubts away.

Erik grew even more wild and frantic as she collapsed against his chest. Sophie grasped his shoulders and held onto him as he worked himself inside of her.

And then he cried out with his own release as he followed her into pleasure and came in wrenching jerks and thrusts and spasms. Sophie felt the wetness between her thighs increase and she knew that he'd found his own release as his hips gave three more small thrusts and then they both stilled, tired and panting as they leaned against one another for support. She left her legs locked around him as he stood there and caught his breath.

Sophie reached up and smoothed the beads of sweat from his forehead. She let her hand rest on the back of his neck as his lips sought hers and he captured her mouth in a kiss.

"I love you," he whispered against her lips. Sophie tightened her muscles around his softening cock in response. He groaned in response and she was satisfied.

"I love you too," she whispered back. Her lips curved into a smile as he kissed her.


	32. Chapter 32

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 32

Erik looked around around the cave. He'd finally finished it. Everything had been sorted. The _keep_ pile was smaller than he'd thought it would be. He wondered how a lifetime could be so reduced to such a small pile of books, leather folios of music, clothing, a few musical instruments, and the metal clockwork machines that he'd built. He had decided to leave the organ down here in the underground cavern where it was. It was half built into the stone wall anyways and would have been an enormous inconvenience to move. Besides, he'd get far more use out of a piano anyways. And he'd always wanted an excuse to buy a Bosendorfer imperial grand once he'd heard of it. With the additional keys on that piano he wouldn't even lose his organ music, really. All of his music would need would be some minor transcribing, and he knew that he was capable of such a simple task.

He paused at the desk and opened the letter that he'd just received from the solicitor earlier that day. _Madame_ Giry had brought it to him. His eyes scanned the page as he read over the list of included furniture again. Most of it would do. There were only a few essentials missing. Erik pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and began to write his list.

No sooner had he finished writing it when the mirrored entrance opened. Ah, the Daroga had arrived then. What impeccable timing, as always.

Erik turned to watch the Daroga step through the mirrored entrance. The tall Persian man tucked a folded newspaper under his armpit and closed the mirrored passage. Erik returned to his task and waited for the ink to fully dry before he folded it in half. The private letter for Sophie, sealed with wax, was added to the stack.

"I see that you're just about finished here," the Daroga said as he looked about the room. "That's just as well, since the wedding is in five days," he added.

"Yes, there's not much left for me to do here," Erik responded quietly. He looked about the cavern and realized that it was true. He'd carved himself out a little house down here below the Paris opera house, but he hadn't known how to make it into a proper home. It had served him as well as it could have, but lately it felt confining and empty all at the same time. Empty without her there, painting his walls, or cooking in his kitchen, or filling his sitting room with her laughter. It felt empty and small without Sophie. And Erik realized that he'd outgrown the confines of its earthen walls. It had sheltered him once upon a time when he'd longed to escape the cruelty of the world above. But that was not how he wished to live anymore. He was so very tired of constantly running, or looking back over his shoulder.

"It is good to see you happy, my friend," the Daroga said with a note of sentiment in his voice.

Erik bit back the cold, sarcastic response that he'd have said with no second thoughts just a few months ago. "Thank you," he said instead as he handed the papers to the Daroga.

The Daroga's eyes widened only for a second before the man regained control over his face.

"How is Sophie?" Erik asked.

The Daroga's face lit up. "Ah! Sophie is most well. As is Emma. _Madame_ Giry has taken them all around Paris to purchase the things that you will need for your new home. I have taken the liberty of contracting a moving company to handle the furniture and larger steamer trunks," the Daroga answered.

"Good, you should have the furniture delivered before we leave. That way it will all be there once we arrive. There is the list of the additional pieces that are required," Erik replied.

The Daroga opened up the unsealed list of furniture. His graying eyebrows rose as he read through the list. "A grand piano! I see. I will have the moving company add a second wagon," the Daroga commented.

Erik nodded absently. "Take it from the account, of course. Speaking of which, have you made the changes that I requested?" he asked.

The Daroga nodded pulled the folded newspaper from under his arm and shuffled Erik's letters and the paper into one hand. The man pulled a stack of papers from the interior pocket of his jacket and handed them to Erik. "Here are your papers from the bank. Everything is in order. All of the accounts have been updated to the name Erik Ravel. I also took the liberty of listing Sophie as your beneficiary. I assumed that was your intent…" the Daroga added hesitantly.

"Good," Erik agreed as he took the papers from the Daroga and scanned the pages. He noted the sums of the accounts and the list of most recent transactions. It all appeared to be in order.

"You'll need to solicit a lawyer to draft a will," the Daroga reminded him.

"Hmm…" was Erik's response. Good grief, did the paperwork ever end? This was why Erik had always preferred to keep his affairs private. Jewels bricked into walls were far easier to move about than lines of numbers on papers in banker's and lawyer's offices. He added _draft a will_ to his mental list of things to accomplish within the next five days. Really and truly he would be glad when all of this was done and over and he and Sophie and Emma were settled into their new home. Being separated from her chafed at him terribly, and he wondered when he'd become so dependent upon her bright smiles and soft touches.

Erik added the bank papers to the leather folio on the desk and turned to see the Daroga standing there, nervous and uneasy.

"Out with it," Erik ordered.

The Daroga pursed his lips and handed him the folded newspaper. "You're not going to be pleased," the Persian man lamented.

Erik took the paper from him and unfolded it to scan the front page's headline.

 **PALAIS GARNIER OPERA HOUSE TO BE REBUILT!**

 **UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT - RENOVATIONS BREAK GROUND NEXT WEEK**

Accompanying the news article was a pencil sketch of what the freshly renovated opera house would look like once the repairs were completed. Erik scanned the sketched design and felt disgust. Someone was going to take his perfect work of art and try to slap a new coat of paint on it and take all of his credit. It was bad enough that Garnier had carved his name on the front of the damned building. Now it was to be taken from him a second time! Briefly he wondered about this new architect, a _Monsieur_ Jean-Loup Roubert, whom he had never heard of before. He wanted to groan in frustration. His beautiful Neo-Baroque masterpiece was about to be picked over by teams of rough construction workers. Erik threw the paper down onto the desk and rubbed roughly at the unmasked portion of his face.

"They'll be crawling through my tunnels next, trying to find all of my secrets," Erik groaned.

"Perhaps it's for the best," the Daroga chimed in.

Erik cut his eyes at the man, but the Persian did not flinch. Had he lost his touch? Had he been so thoroughly tamed that the Daroga no longer feared Erik's horrible anger? The thought made him want to laugh. And so Erik laughed like a madman.

"For the best…" Erik muttered gloomily. He sobered in the next moment and felt the tinge of madness as it left him. "I'll have to block all of the tunnels and deconstruct the traps," he grumbled to himself.

It would not do for someone to fall into one of his many lethal traps. After all, he'd promised Sophie that he'd not take another life. And leaving the traps unsecured for workmen to stumble into them would count, if the men died from it, would it not? Erik was new to this whole conscience thing. He guessed that Sophie would think it counted. And then she would be cross at him as a result. Really, it was just more practical to block it all up now while he was here and had the time. Five days was barely enough time to accomplish everything. Thank goodness he had never needed much sleep.

Erik picked the paper up and looked at the sketch again. He groaned and threw it back down on the desk. Fools! All of them! Well, let Paris have their gaudy new opera house. He was done with lazy chorus members and tone-deaf musicians and greedy, untalented, infantile prima donnas. Leave them all to Paris.

"Leave me," Erik ordered. The Daroga turned on his heel and began to leave without another word.

"Wait!" Erik called out after him. The Daroga paused in his retreat and looked back over his shoulder warily at Erik.

"I nearly forgot- take the cat with you," Erik added.

"The… the cat?" the Daroga said with a hint of disgust in his voice. "Are you certain that you don't wish to keep Ayesha's company for just a few more days? And I'm not certain that she would… appreciate being moved twice… especially without you there to calm her," the Persian demurred artificially.

"Take the cat and tell Emma that Ayesha is hers. Tie a damned bow around her neck, too," he instructed. Erik left the desk and padded over to the sleeping cat. He picked Ayesha up from the sitting room sofa and watched the cat blink lazy eyes at him.

"Ayesha, Nadir will take you to Sophie. There is a little girl there, Emma, who is to be your new mistress. You will not bite or scratch her," he ordered the cat as if it understood his words.

Ayesha purred her rumbling purr at him and blinked her brilliant, icy blue eyes at him.

Erik nodded to her as if they'd struck their deal. He handed the cat to the protesting Daroga and smiled to himself when she hissed at the Persian.

The Daroga held the hissing cat to his chest and opened the mechanism of the sliding mirror as if he was a death row inmate walking to the awaiting guillotine. Erik smirked and watched the man leave. How easily the old police chief was brought low by a silly little cat.

The mirror slid shut and Erik was left alone again. Good. He had work to do. _Disable all of the traps and block up all of the secret tunnels_. Erik added it to his mental list of things to do and wondered how he'd accomplish it all in just five, short days. He groaned.


	33. Chapter 33

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 33

Sophie sat on the bed and watched Emma as the little girl sat on the floor and dangled a piece of ribbon before the cat's swiping paws. Ayesha's eyes flicked back and forth at the dancing bit of ribbon as her tail twitched wildly back and forth. Emma had made dodging the cat's sharp claws into a game. Nadir had returned with the Siamese cat four days ago, and Emma and the little cat had become inseparable in that short time. At night the cat slept in their bed, and during the day Emma carried Ayesha about the house and brushed the cat's short velvet fur for hours while she chattered at it. Sophie had picked the cat hair from the brush's bristles and added _buy a new hairbrush_ to her mental list of things to do.

But they were out of days now to run errands. Sophie's eyes flickered up to the wardrobe where her wedding dress was hung up. It had been steamed, and pressed, and she'd received strict orders to leave it alone until it was time to put it on. That time was soon coming. The wedding was tomorrow. Her breathing hitched and she felt butterflies in her stomach every time that she thought of it.

"You're doing it again," Emma said abruptly.

"What?" Sophie asked in confusion as she turned her attention back down to the little girl on the floor.

"Staring off into space and sighing," Emma replied and rolled her eyes.

"Oh! I hadn't realized… I'm just… thinking about tomorrow," Sophie explained.

Emma dropped the piece of string and missed the cat's pounce as the little girl climbed into the bed with Sophie.

"Because you're getting married?" Emma asked.

Sophie brushed a wayward curl back behind Emma's ear and let her fingers trail over the girl's cheeks. "Yes, because I'm so happy. Are… are _you_ happy, Emma?" Sophie asked her.

Emma tilted her head and thought for a little while. "I miss maman…" she stated sadly. "But I love Ayesha… and I am glad that I don't have to stand out in the cold anymore selling matches. I didn't like standing in the cold," Emma added.

Sophie smiled and let her hand trail to rest on the girl's back. "What could I do to help?" she asked Emma.

"Can we plant lilies? Instead of sunflowers? Maman always loved lilies," Emma asked softly, her voice unsure.

Sophie leaned down and kissed the little girl on the head. "Of course we can! We can plant whatever you want. We will grow lilies for maman," she reassured her.

"And can we see maman one last time? Before we leave? I want to say goodbye before we leave," Emma requested.

Sophie nodded. "Yes, of course. We can visit her grave in the morning to say goodbye," she said as she stroked Emma's tangled curls.

Suddenly there was a knock on the bedroom door.

"Come in," Sophie called out and the door swung open.

Darius was standing there on the threshold. "You have a visitor," he said softly.

Sophie's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Nadir was out running errands, and besides it was his home so he would not be announced as a visitor. Perhaps it was _Madame_ Giry? But if it was the old ballet mistress then surely he would just say so? Darius disappeared down the hallway before she could ask who was visiting her at such a late hour.

"Stay here and watch that Ayesha doesn't claw the bed sheets," Sophie instructed Emma. The cat huffed from where she was laying on the floor rug as if she understood and resented Sophie's words.

Sophie climbed off of the bed and closed the door behind her as she made her way into the front sitting room. She couldn't stop the gasp from leaving her lips as her eyes landed on Christine. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. Why was Christine here? In Nadir's flat.

Christine stood up from the sofa when Sophie stepped into view. The two women stared at each other from opposite ends of the sitting room.

Sophie looked at her from head to toe. The way that the woman's perfectly coiffed hair was piled up elegantly on her head, the jewels that glittered at her ears and throat, and the sophisticated and stylish cut of her gown.

Christine's eyes similarly roamed over Sophie before they lowered and settled on Sophie's stomach. At seven weeks along Sophie's belly was only slightly softer than normal. But still, Christine's eyes settled on it as if they could bore through the layers of cloth and see the child that was growing inside. Sophie thought she saw a flash of jealousy cross Christine's face but the expression was gone before she could be certain.

Christine sat back down on the sofa.

Sophie's knees felt weak, so she settled herself in Nadir's wingback armchair. She could not bring herself to sit on the sofa next to Christine as if they were old friends who were catching up on some random Thursday evening.

Darius entered the room and set down a tray of tea, then left as quickly as he'd come. Smart man. She'd have left the room too if she could have gotten away with it.

Both of the women sat in silence. The pause in conversation lengthened and turned awkward. She couldn't… Christine… didn't think that Sophie would serve her, did she? The thought was abhorrent. She could not force herself to do it, even if it might be petty. She added _pettiness_ to her list of many sins.

Sophie busied herself with pouring herself a cup of tea. She spooned three cubes of sugar into the cup then sat back in the armchair and affected an air of calm indifference, as if she entertained Comtesses every day. Let the woman pour her own God damned cup of tea.

Sophie blew on her tea to cool it down, then took a tentative sip.

" _Madame_ Giry is not here," Sophie said blandly, as if her heart wasn't trying to beat out of her chest. She ignored the pinprick of perspiration that dotted her hairline. She took another sip of tea.

Christine's big brown eyes rose to study her as the young woman turned in place on the sofa. "I know where _Madame_ Giry lives. I did not come here to see her," Christine said in lilting tones.

Sophie saw why Erik had first noticed the girl. Her voice was soft and sweet. She was young and pretty, hardly more than… what… nineteen, or maybe twenty? Could this girl really fill an entire opera house with her singing? She seemed so timid as she sat there primly on Nadir's sofa.

"I think that we should speak plainly," Sophie declared, sounding far more confident than she felt.

Christine poured herself a cup of tea and settled back on her seat. "I went to visit Meg. I asked her about her life during these last two years. I asked her about her new friend. She told me that she had no idea who you were," Christine said very plainly.

Sophie swirled her spoon in her tea even though her sugar cubes had long since dissolved. What was she to say? She felt pulled in different directions. She wanted to kick the Comtesse out of Nadir's home and pretend that she had never met the woman. She wanted to get married tomorrow and erase this girl from hers and Erik's minds and lives forever. But this was not her home. She was simply a guest here. It would not do to embarrass Nadir's hospitality. She wished that they'd never gone dress shopping that day. One more regret to add to her long list of them.

Christine continued. "I thought to myself, why would _Madame_ Giry lie to me? Why pretend that you are Meg's new friend, when you are not? And then I realized that there was only one other person who came before all others with _Madame_ Giry," the Comtesse added.

Sophie stared at the young woman warily. Well, there really was no use pretending now. She struggled to find the words to say; the words that would satisfy Christine, and make her leave. She took a sip of tea as her mind raced and explored the possibilities.

Christine continued, unperturbed. "But he's dead, I thought to myself. I saw the advertisement myself in the newspaper. 'Erik is dead.' I returned his ring below the opera house, and mourned the loss," the young woman disclosed. "I moved on. We all moved on."

Sophie took another sip of tea and drained the cup.

"Or so I thought. But he's not dead," Christine stated. The woman's eyes dropped to Sophie's soft stomach. "It was a lie. He's not dead at all," the woman whispered.

Sophie pretended to set her tea cup down and laid her arm across her stomach in the process as a distraction from the movement. She did not want this woman here, in this sitting room, and in their lives.

"Why did you come here?" Sophie asked, her voice more ragged than she'd intended. It betrayed her uncertainty.

Christine's eyes flew up to meet hers and the young woman seemed to shrink from Sophie's gaze. "You don't deny it then?" Christine said breathily.

"No, I won't deny it. Erik is very much alive. Again, I'll ask you, why have you come here? What do you hope to gain from dredging up the past?" Sophie challenged, her voice more terse than she'd intended it to sound.

Christine did shrink back from her then. The woman's face paled slightly. "I simply… I needed to… I just wanted to know if it was true…" the woman stammered.

Sophie couldn't stop the rude sound as it left her. "You know, for someone who made her career in the theater you have atrocious timing," Sophie remarked a little cruely.

Christine paled even further, and then the girl's face crumpled as if she was about to cry.

Sophie closed her eyes and counted to ten, then opened them and regarded the poor, half-frightened girl before her. Sophie saw Christine for what she was; A young woman who had been innocent, and sweet, and sheltered from the harsh realities of the world; A woman who had found herself trapped between the ambitions and desires of two warring men.

"I'm sorry," Sophie apologized, startling Christine. Sophie waved a hand around the area of her belly. "The mood swings…" Sophie made excuses and then let her voice trail off.

Christine sniffed and nodded, the tears receding. "I understand," the woman said kindly. "I know that it must seem strange to you, that I care for him after all of this time. After everything that happened between him and me. But I needed to know that my angel has found happiness." Christine said earnestly.

Sophie's tumbling stomach settled. Was that all? Was that the Comtesse's ambition here? To assuage some misguided sense of guilt, or satisfy some feeling of duty? Sophie looked at the girl's face and saw no deception or cunning there. Could anyone really be as sweet and simple as this young woman? Sophie felt a little sorry for her then. If she really wore her heart on her sleeve like this then she would surely be eaten alive by the other aristocrats in Paris. And… angel? What sort of nonsense had Erik filled this poor girl's head with?

Sophie forced herself to smile sweetly at Christine. "We are very happy together," Sophie told her honestly.

Christine sniffled and tried to smile too. "Good... I am glad for it. I want nothing more than for my angel to be happy."

Sophie nodded, mute. What else was there to say?

"Is he… he's not… he's not here, I mean, is he?" Christine asked. The woman's eyes flitted about the room as if searching for some sign of him in Nadir's parlor. The woman's face wore an odd mixture of hope and panic.

"No," Sophie interjected. "He is not here. And he will not be in paris much longer either. We leave tomorrow, actually."

Christine looked as if she was deflating as she settled back onto the sofa. The Comtesse nodded absently, and looked bereft.

Sophie felt the spark of jealousy flare to life inside of her and she worked to squash it down.

"That's good. For him, I mean. Paris must hold too many painful memories…" Christine murmured.

"I agree. Sometimes the past must be left alone… to memory," Sophie added cautiously.

Christine nodded as if she understood the sentiment. "How did you two meet?" the young woman asked. And then a blush stained her delicate face and made her look even lovelier than she already was. "Forgive me if it's presumptuous to ask."

Sophie looked down at her hands which she'd folded in her lap. "He saved my life… and in a way, he saved Emma's as well. It… would be a long story to explain it properly…" Sophie evaded.

Christine nodded. "I understand. He can be capable of such kindness, but also…" Christine started and then let the sentence hang half-said in the air between them.

Sophie understood her meaning, then. Erik was capable of such kindness, but also such horribleness. She vividly recalled the burned down opera house, the destroyed cavern home, the twist of rage on his face when he'd cornered her that one time at dinner. "I'm not afraid of him," Sophie declared. And she realized that it was true.

Christine looked at her with an odd expression on her face. "I loved him… when he was my Angel of Music. And I feared him… when I learned that he was the Phantom of the opera. I never knew how to fit the two pieces of him together as one being inside of my mind," the young Comtesse confessed.

"He's neither," Sophie told her sharply. "He's just a man," she added, softer.

"You love the man inside of him, then. You love Erik," Christine murmured. The Comtesse looked down at her clasped hands, her face was sad and worn and it made the young woman look older than she was.

"With all my heart," Sophie answered honestly.

"Sophie! We're hungry!" Emma yelled as she burst into the sitting room with the cat dangling loosely from her arms.

Sophie's attention was pulled away from Christine's weepy eyes as Emma stepped into the room. The cat's attention settled on christine and then Ayesha was hissing and clawing her way out of Emma's arms in a frantic scramble.

Emma screamed and dropped the cat who ran from the room and disappeared down the hallway.

Sophie was off her chair and across the room in the blink of an eye. She grabbed Emma's arms to inspect the damage. Luckily the girl's long sleeves had saved her from the worst of Ayesha's claws. But the little girl still had two pink lines etched onto one of her small hands. A tiny drop of blood was beaded on the skin.

"Why would she do that? She's never done that before," Emma sobbed as tears rolled down her face.

Sophie picked the crying girl up and carried her over to the chair. She sat Emma in her lap and fussed over the scratches on her hands.

Emma sobbed and buried her face in Sophie's neck. Sophie patted the girl on the back and soothed her until the ragged, dramatic sobs slowed, and then stopped. Darius appeared in the doorway from the kitchen and stared with a bewildered look at the scene that they presented.

"A cool, wet cloth, please, Darius," Sophie ordered. Darius disappeared to do as she had asked.

Emma sniffed and rubbed her tear stained face clean.

"Ayesha…" Christine whispered from the sofa, her voice barely audible.

Darius returned and pressed the cool, wet cloth into Sophie's hand. He took the tray of tea with him upon his exit from the room.

Sophie made a show of cleaning Emma's cat scratches. She pressed a kiss to the skin, then wiped Emma's face clean with the cloth.

"I don't think she meant to hurt you," Sophie soothed Emma. "I think she just got scared."

Emma sniffed and nodded and looked up. "Because of the lady from the shop?" Emma asked Sophie between sniffs as Emma turned to stare at Christine.

"I should go," Christine said softly.

Sophie nodded over Emma's head and watched the young Comtesse let herself out silently. The front door _clicked_ as it swung shut behind Christine.

"Who is she?" Emma asked.

"A friend of _Madame_ Giry's," Sophie replied vaguely.

Emma sniffed again. "I'm still hungry," she complained pitifully, changing the subject.

Sophie smiled down at her. Emma would be alright. "What would you like for dinner?" she asked the little girl.

They would both be just fine.

* * *

The next morning dawned bright as the sun shone through the window into Sophie's eyes. She'd tossed and turned all night, barely able to sleep a wink. Instead, she'd alternated between staring at her pocketwatch to watch as the hours passed slowly, and pulling one of Emma's wayward limbs from her face or back. The little girl really was part octopus when she slept. Sophie was greatly looking forward to getting her own bed back. Her bed with Erik. Their bed. They'd be married today and then they'd be off to the country to their new home. The furniture had been sent days ago. Everything was waiting for this final moment to arrive, their point of no return.

Sophie watched the hour hand as it swung past seven o'clock and she finally deemed it an appropriate time to arise from the bed.

The wood floor was chilly under her feet. Sophie pulled the green wrapper over her chemise and ran the hairbrush, cleaned of cat hair, through her tangled hair. She dipped her hands in the basin of water and smoothed the curls back together. Her slippers had been kicked under the bed so Sophie knelt on the floor and fished them out, then slipped them onto her feet. Ayesha darted out from under the bed, startling Sophie, and the cat settled herself on the residual spot of warmth on the bed.

"She'll forgive you if you ask nicely," Sophie told the cat in hushed tones. Ayesha inched closer to Emma's sleeping form until she was was settled against the little girl's side. The Siamese cat closed her eyes and purred loudly. One of Emma's hands reached out in sleep and pulled the cat against her body. The cat's loud purring rumbled through the otherwise silent room.

Sophie raised one eyebrow as if to tell the cat that she'd been right, but the cat was fast asleep now that her young mistress had accepted her again.

Instead, Sophie left the room. She was ravenous after she had tossed and turned all night instead of sleeping. She'd wished desperately that Erik could have been there with her. She'd even thought about having Darius drive her to the opera house at some point in the night. But Emma had been so sad and upset after the incident with the cat. It was too hard to leave the little girl. And anyways, _Madame_ Giry would have found out and chastised her, saying it was customary for the bride and groom to sleep apart before the nuptials.

Her wedding day. Sophie couldn't believe that it was finally here. She felt giddy and nervous and like she wanted to throw up, but she wasn't sure if it was just nerves, or morning sickness, or some awful combination of the two.

Nadir was in the kitchen sitting at the breakfast table and eating a blueberry scone with his morning tea while he read the newspaper.

"Good morning my dear!" he greeted her cheerfully.

"Good morning," she replied.

Sophie scooped the ginger tea into an empty Samovar and set the pot to boil on the stove.

"How do you feel today?" Nadir inquired. He set the newspaper that he'd been reading down onto the table.

"A little nervous… but mostly excited," she admitted. "I just hope that I don't throw up on the priest," she joked.

Nadir grimaced a little at her crude joke. "Ah… well… nerves are to be expected," he said politely.

The Persian teapot whistled and Sophie pulled it from the burner and poured herself a cup of tea, spooning three lumps of sugar into it. She joined Nadir at the table and set the cup aside to let it cool.

"Any big news today?" she asked and nodded at the paper.

"Actually, yes…" Nadir replied.

Sophie raised her eyebrows and looked at the man to urge him to continue.

"They announced several days ago that the opera populaire has been sold. It is to be renovated, beginning Monday," Nadir explained.

Sophie's eyebrows rose even higher. "Ah! Good timing, then. I suppose it couldn't stay abandoned too much longer. Someone was bound to snatch it up and try to fix it. Is that what's in the paper then? And does Erik know?"

Nadir nudged the paper toward Sophie. "Erik knows of the renovations, but not about this."

Sophie scanned the headline of the paper.

COMTESSE DE CHAGNY SIGNS CONTRACT WITH OPERA POPULAIRE!

THE STAR SOPRANO WILL RETURN TO THE STAGE UPON ITS GRAND REOPENING

Sophie cursed to herself silently. "She doesn't waste much time, does she?" she mumbled. The tea had cooled enough for drinking as Sophie raised it to her lips and took a tentative sip. The sweet, spicy warmth spread through her and calmed her nerves and stomach.

"Let's keep this from him if we can, alright?" she asked Nadir.

He nodded and took the paper back from her.

Sophie sipped her tea and willed the fatigue from her body. She had a wedding to get ready for.

* * *

 _Madame_ Giry arrived promptly at half past eight. Sophie and Emma were adequately breakfasted and washed by then. Sophie was in the middle of brushing out the little girl's damp, tangled hair when _Madame_ Giry entered the bedroom to assist them. Sophie smiled up at the stern ballet mistress.

"Good! You are already half ready," _Madame_ Giry said pleasantly.

"Before we head to the church today Emma and I would like to stop at our mother's grave to pay our respects," Sophie told her.

The old woman paused and Sophie was prepared for a stern lecturing about the day's timeline and there not being any room for deviation, but _Madame_ Giry's face softened into a warm, motherly smile instead.

"Of course, my dear, we have more than enough time for that. What good girls you are," the woman murmured. "Now, let's fix that hair of yours." Sophie wasn't sure which of them the woman was addressing. It turned out to be both of them.

The three women all sat on the bed as Sophie fixed Emma's hair into a braided updo and _Madame_ Giry fixed Sophie's into a complicated knot of curls and braids. Sophie winced and flinched away when _Madame_ Giry stabbed a hair pin a little too tightly into the mass of hair at the nape of her neck.

"Hold still!" the old ballet mistress chastised her.

Both Sophie and Emma sat up a little straighter on the bed.

Three more pins were added and then _Madame_ Giry announced that she was finished.

Both women helped Emma into her dress first, then sent the little girl from the room and instructed her to not play with the cat or get herself dirty. Emma said she wouldn't do either be cause she didn't want to ruin her pretty dress. Sophie had her reservations, but let her go. Hopefully Darius would intervene if needed.

"Alright, into the dress we go," _Madame_ Giry ushered her.

Sophie undid her wrapper and pulled both that and her chemise up over her head. As she undressed, _Madame_ Giry pulled the wedding gown from where it hung up in the closet. Even knowing what it looked like Sophie's breath was still taken from her she saw it. _Madame_ Giry pulled the skirt from the clips of the hanger and helped Sophie settle the layers of fabric around her waist. The bodice was next. Sophie held her arms out and pulled them into the sleeves while _Madame_ Giry laced her in at the back. The dress was a tad bit snugger than it had been two weeks ago, but the lacing in the back was forgiving.

 _Madame_ Giry handed Sophie a white box tied closed with a pale blue ribbon.

Sophie looked at it in confusion. "What's this?" she asked.

"A wedding day present from Erik," the woman explained.

Sophie pulled the ribbon off and stopped to tie it around one of her ankle underneath the skirts. "Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue," she explained shyly, not sure why she was embarrassed. _Madame_ Giry merely nodded.

Sophie opened the box and gasped. "Oh my God," she exclaimed.

"Sophie! Do not take the lord's name in vain," Madame Giry chastised her and crossed herself devoutly.

"Oh, I'm sorry _Madame_ Giry, but _look_ at this," she said as she handed the box to the woman.

Madame Giry gasped as well and lifted the gold filigree necklace from the box. It was gorgeous. A long, gold chain held a single gold pendant. A large pear shaped aquamarine pendant was wrapped in gold filigree swirls, and three similarly but smaller aquamarine tear drops edged in gold filigree hung down from the large pendant.

"Perhaps you didn't need the ribbon after all since Erik has given you your something blue," _Madame_ Giry said as she lifted the necklace free of the box and unclasped the chain.

Sophie turned and let the woman attach it around her neck. The long necklace settled against her skin and the pendant hit just perfectly in the middle between her neck and the top of the low cut bodice. It highlighted her ample cleavage. _That sneaky man_ , she thought warmly.

"The final touch," _Madame_ Giry announced as she pulled the veiled headpiece from the shelf in the wardrobe.

Sophie dipped her head and let the woman fix it into her updo.

"There! Beautiful," _Madame_ Giry proclaimed.

And Sophie felt beautiful as she caught her reflection in the wardrobe's attached mirror. Erik's bride. Her stomach fluttered in a pleasant way.

Sophie grabbed _Madame_ Giry's hands in hers and fought to keep the tears contained. "Thank you, for everything. You've been like a mother to me these last two weeks. You have no idea how much it means to me," she said gratefully.

The old, stern ballet mistress looked startled but pleased as she squeezed Sophie's hands in return. "Take care of him, his heart is more fragile that he lets on," the woman replied.

Sophie smiled at the woman. "I know, and I will," she agreed. _Madame_ Giry squeezed her hands in return, and then the woman was opening the door and announcing to everyone who was waiting that the bride was ready.

Nadir was standing with Darius and Emma in the hallway. She blushed as they all exclaimed over her. She was not used to so much attention.

Nadir held a bouquet of flowers out to her. She realized then as she saw them that she'd completely forgotten about making her own wedding bouquet. Christine's visit yesterday had shaken her more than she'd thought. But apparently Erik had handled that detail for her as well.

Sophie reached out and took the bouquet from him and smiled as she read the meanings in the mixture. Forget me nots surrounded two dozen white roses, and the whole bouquet was tied together loosely so that trailing vines of ivy would drip down like a waterfall from her hands as she held the bouquet out in front of her. _True, eternal love, purity, and fidelity._ It was beautiful and perfect.

"How lovely you are, my dear," Nadir said as he leaned forward to kiss her on her cheek.

Sophie smiled and beamed up at him.

"Now, Darius will take you and Emma to the graveyard. Don't be too long, my dear, we must be at Sainte-Chapelle within an hour. Erik is on his way here even now to join us," Nadir told them.

 _Madame_ Giry protested this, saying that it was bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other before the wedding.

Nadir waved her concerns away. "The gentlemen will take a hired carriage together, then," he compromised.

"Don't be silly," Sophie refused. "Emma and I can walk. The church is just two blocks away. And the fresh air will give us time to think and reflect."

"But your dress!" Madame Giry protested.

"I'll be very careful," Sophie reassured them. And she would not let them dissuade her. It made no sense to wait for Darius to rush to fetch the carriage and hitch the horse. By the time that they were situated they could have already walked the short distance.

Sophie took Emma's hand and together the two girls left the house that had been their home for the last two weeks and they made their way the short distance to the church where their parents were buried.

They passed few people on the way to the church, despite the fact that it was a sunny Spring morning. The air was warm and pleasant and the sun came and went as clouds passed by. After a few minutes of walking they had arrived at the church. Emma ran ahead while Sophie focused on holding up her ivory skirts as she made her way carefully through the graveyard while she tried not to dirty the hem or train. At last she caught up to Emma.

Sophie situated the layers of her skirts in her hands and looked up at Emma, who was unexpectedly staring off into the distance towards the church.

"What is it?" Sophie asked.

"Papa," the little girl said softly.

Sophie followed her gaze. And there he was. Jacques was standing in the archway of the church, his eyes focused on their mother's grave. He rose as he sighted them and stumbled forwards toward them quickly at an almost half-run. Sophie saw the flash of metal glinting in his hand from the morning light.

Sophie grabbed Emma by the arm and wheeled her around so that their eyes met. The little girl's lips were parted open in stunned surprise.

"Emma, listen carefully. Run and get Nadir and _Madame_ Giry. Tell them that Papa is here at mother's grave. Tell them that they need to bring Erik, and to hurry," she ordered forcefully.

The little girl stared at Sophie with wide, round eyes until Sophie gave her a little shove in the direction from where they'd come. "Run!" she yelled. And Emma ran.

Jacques darted sideways as if to change his course of direction to catch the running Emma.

Sophie feinted in the opposite direction and regained his attention. It worked. Jacques swung back around to her as he slowly advanced. Emma disappeared from sight.

She moved away from him and tried to always keep something between them as her stepfather approached her. A tombstone, a sculpture, a tree, anything to keep her from his immediate reach. There was something dangerous in the way that he stalked her in the graveyard. Sophie didn't trust the look in his eye, or the tension in his body. She glanced down to his hand and saw that the glint of silver that she'd seen a moment ago was a knife that he was clutching tightly in his hand.

"How pretty you look, Sophie-girl, in your wedding dress," he called out to her. "Although… are you certain that you should be wearing white?"

"It's ivory, actually," She replied casually.

Sophie glared at him but refused to rise to the barb. This game looked deadlier than Jacques' usual tricks. The first one who lost themselves to anger would surely be the loser in far worse ways.

"Have you been sitting here, waiting for us, all this time? Have you nothing better to do with your life, you worthless drunk?" she taunted back.

Jacques grinned and tossed the knife from one hand to the other. Sophie held her skirts higher in her hands and let another tombstone come between them. She felt the ground sloping upwards behind her and she realized that she was backing up onto the small hill of the graveyard. She realized then that he was herding her.

"Won't you come here and give old Jacques a kiss? It's customary, isn't it? For the father to kiss the bride on her wedding day," he sneered.

"You're not my father, and you will never touch me again. I'd rather die," she yelled back.

"That can be arranged, my sweet, just come over here to papa," he retorted.

She feinted left then tried to run to the right.

Jacques darted in the wrong direction at first but recovered quickly as he ran around another tombstone. He reached out to grab her but Sophie lept away from him. Her slipper slid in the grass but she was able to regain her footing and increase the distance between them. Her foot stepped backwards and landed on the upward slope again. He was definitely herding her. She didn't know to where he intended to chase her, but she was certain that it would end unpleasantly for her if he got his way.

"What is your goal here, Jacques? To kill me? So that you can take Emma away from me?" Why do you even want her? How will you take care of a child when you're passed out drunk, or when someone has stabbed you for cheating at a card game?" she pleaded with him, buying time.

"I am doing this for her!" he screamed at her like a madman. "You took her from me. Now I'm taking her back," he seethed between clenched teeth.

The knife glinted in the morning sun. Jacques advanced as Sophie retreated away from him. A statue of an angel came between them as Sophie sought to increase the distance between them. Her shoulder scraped against the statue as she hit it with her back before she edged away from it. She stepped on her train and nearly stumbled. Sophie hiked the many layers of her skirts up higher as her calves burned with her slow retreat uphill. But he kept his distance from her as long as she kept walking slowly backwards in the direction where he was leading her.

"Is it money that you're after? I can get you money," she offered.

Jacques' constant movement stilled at that comment as his eyes roamed her body, pausing at the gold and aquamarine necklace that she was wearing.

"I see that you've sold yourself to that fat, old Persian for some cheap paste jewels set in brass. If I'd known that's all it took to part your legs I'd have bedded you sooner and paid you in trinkets instead of bruises. Maybe you'd have cried less, that way. You were such a flirty little thing when you weren't crying," he taunted.

Sophie felt his barbs land as she fought to keep her composure. He'd say anything to get her mad and make her lose her focus. Whenever her eyes left his face to scan the graveyard around them he inched forward slowly. She took another step back and felt her veil catch on something. She pulled it free and heard it rip.

"I was a child and you raped me," she accused him. She liked the way his face contorted at that ugly word. It was the truth.

The dappled shadows shifted on the grass of the sloping hill as she tried to increase the distance between them. They were slowly making their way up the gently sloped hill towards the mausoleum and the line of trees. Was that his plan then? Get her to the trees and find a private spot to sink his knife into her?

Sophie stepped back and almost tripped and fell over a short grave marker that was nearly hidden in the grass. They'd moved from the newer portion of the graveyard to the older part where some graves were marked by larger tomb stones, but others were delineated only by low, little grave markers that were hidden in the overgrown grass of the older section. The old cemetery, with its hidden grave markers and line of trees with roots that gnarled and twisted about. She knew his game, then. He'd herd her there until she tripped, and then he'd pounce.

"You liked it," he countered. "You didn't even fight me sometimes."

She stopped dead in her tracks and watched the confusion on his face as he inched forward towards her.

"Nothing to say to that? You're not going to deny it? You were always such a little slut. You wanted me to fuck you," he said as he slowly advanced toward her with his blade raised.

Sophie tilted her chin to point at the area behind him as she lifted her skirts up to her knees.

"They're here," she said, pleased, and she couldn't keep the satisfied smile from her face as his face twisted in confusion.

Jacques turned and saw what Sophie had seen from her vantage point up on the slope. There was Nadir, running towards her as fast as his short little legs could carry him. He carried a pistol in his hand and he was flailing it wildly.

A breeze blew her veil into her face. The shadows danced on the grass as the tree branches swayed in the wind.

"Your lover makes quite the sight running like a fat pig to the slaughter," Jacques joked and laughed. He threw the knife back into his right hand and stood as if he was ready for the fight.

Sophie pulled the veil away from her face and smiled wickedly as she picked up her leg and kicked him squarely in the chest. Her kick sent him tumbling.

Jacques lost his footing in the slippery grass and fell. He tumbled head over heel, then skidded to a stop. The knife flew from his hand and was lost somewhere in the grass. He rolled to his hands and knees to search for it as Nadir continued his approach.

Sophie ran. But instead of running down towards Nadir, instead she ran up the hill, up to the mausoleum where she would be far out of Jacques' reach.

"There's one thing that you've gotten wrong in all of this. Nadir isn't my lover," she called out to him with satisfaction in her voice from where she stood in the shadows of the mausoleum.

Jacques' fingers found the knife in the grass and he rose, finally, to stand before her on the slope. Nadir was still too far away to be an effective shot at that distance.

"His shot won't reach me before I've stuck ya with this knife. I'll take you with me. I've won now, love," Jacques chortled.

Erik stepped out from the shadow of the mausoleum and drew his sword. "I don't think so," he said as he pointed the tip of his sword at Jacques.

Sophie stepped backwards until she was behind Erik and the sharp edge of the blade. She saw the shocked expression on Jacques' face and smiled.

Erik reached out and gently pushed her even further back out of harm's way.

Jacques paled as he and Erik faced each other. The little knife in her stepfather's hand quivered.

"What… who…" Jacques stammered. The man's eyes were transfixed on Erik's mask.

Erik stepped forward menacingly towards Jacques and with a flick of his wrist his sword slashed through the air and cut the tiny blade from her stepfather's hand... and took a few fingers with it.

Jacques screamed as he clutched his bleeding hand and fell onto his knees. Erik raised the sword again and aimed it this time at the mans unprotected neck.

"No, Erik, don't!" Sophie yelled out from the shadows of the mausoleum.

Erik paused, the tension still evident in his body as he held the sword aloft and ready.

"You want me to spare this man? The man who raped and beat you and who was about to murder you," Erik asked, his voice surprised.

"Remember the promise that you made me," she reminded him. Sophie stepped forward until she stood right behind Erik and was close enough to touch him. Tentatively she reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder. He tensed, but the sword's tip lowered by a fraction. Sophie pressed herself fully against his back and felt him tense even more. He was taut like a wire with unleashed fury.

Jacques screamed and carried on and wailed about his missing fingers. Drops of blood splattered the grass where her stepfather kneeled. "I'll kill you both!" Jacques threatened impotently as he screamed and bled all over the graveyard lawn.

"See there? He's threatening you. Killing him now would count as self defense, wouldn't it? Surely that's allowed," Erik argued.

Sophie wrapped her arms around Erik until they clasped together on his chest. She saw the sword's point drop even further towards the ground.

"He's a drunk. He'll drink himself to death soon enough and save us both the trouble of killing him," she murmured against Erik's back.

Erik's sword tip touched the ground and Sophie felt his hand cup over hers where it rested on his chest. But then he broke the link of her hands and pulled her arm from around him. Erik stalked forward towards Jacques.

Sophie quietly watched as her lover advanced on her prostrate stepfather. She waited to see what Erik would do. Her wishes had been made known. Erik would either listen, or he wouldn't.

Jacques stared up at Erik as her fiance advanced on him, looking like death personified with the bloody sword held comfortingly in his calm, sure hand. Jacques' face was pale and his lips were parted in a silent scream as Erik kneeled in the blood splattered grass before the man and wiped the the blood from his sword against her stepfather's sleeve. "If I ever see your face again I'll relieve you of the rest of your fingers. You can't touch little girls if you don't have any fingers," Erik said through gritted teeth.

Sophie's attention was drawn away from Erik and her stepfather towards the base of hill where Nadir approached them with his pistol cocked and pointed vaguely towards Jacques.

Jacques moaned and pressed his bleeding stubs of fingers against his dirty shirt. "What sort of beast are you marrying?" her stepfather gasped.

Sophie turned her attention from Nadir to her stepfather and she saw what no one else did, that while he was moaning and carrying on and pressing his bleeding finger stumps into his chest, his other untouched hand was inching towards the knife that was laying forgotten and ignored in the grass.

Sophie strode forward then, her skirts held up high in her hands, and she stepped onto his undamaged, reaching hand and pressed all of her weight onto her heel. A fragile hand bone snapped and crunched under her foot. Jacques screamed again. Sophie glared at her stepfather and gave her foot a cruel little twist and she stomped again.

"He's a far better man than you will ever be," she seethed. "He spared your life because I asked him to. Reach for that knife a second time, and I won't speak for you again," she promised in a cold, even voice. And she meant every word of her threat.

Sophie lifted her foot and kicked the knife away. Jacques whimpered and raised his broken hand to cradle it against his chest beside the bleeding one.

"You will never see Emma or me again after today. You will die, a drunken beggar, in some back alley gutter street of Paris like the dog that you are," she hissed.

Jacques sobbed and cowered away from her.

Erik plucked a bank note from his pocket and flicked it towards her stepfather. The twenty franc note fluttered to the grass and landed in the blood splattered grass.

"Allow me to buy you the first round," Erik taunted, and then he rose from where he had been kneeling before Jacques. He sheathed his sword in the scabbard that was tied to his hip, then turned and offered his arm out to Sophie.

Sophie linked her arm in Erik's and she leaned her weight against him as he helped her down the grassy slope.

"That was a good kick that you gave him. I nearly laughed and gave myself away from the shadows of the mausoleum when he tumbled head over ass down that hill," he said with a hint of a smile in his voice.

"It felt rather good, actually. Better than I thought it would," she replied and laughed.

"I'm curious, though, how did you know that I was there?" Erik asked as he leaned his head down towards hers while they walked.

"I saw your shadow on the grass. At least, I hoped that it was your shadow. I was very nearly certain that you were there once I saw Nadir running to us, waving that gun, and trying to get all of our attention," she answered.

"Next time I'd rather that you didn't take such a dangerous risk without being absolutely certain of the outcome. What if the shadow had actually been just a shadow?" he cautioned.

Sophie tilted her head and looked up at Erik as they walked. She smiled at him when he turned his head and met her gaze. "I'd have saved myself, of course. I'm quite resourceful, you know. Still... I trusted that you'd come," she murmured as she nudged him in the side with her elbow.

They made their way, arm linked in arm, down the hill to the waiting Nadir who stood there patiently and holstered his gun when they approached.

"We're late for the church now," Nadir pointed out.

Sophie sighed and let her skirts drop to the ground once she had made it onto the pebbled path. Her hem and train was dirtied and stained green from when she'd stepped on it in the grass. She pulled her long veil over her shoulder and inspected the damage to that as well, remembering how she'd scraped against a rough stone statue and then gotten it caught. There was a tear in the delicate netting.

"Oh, shit," Sophie cursed, which caused the two men to turn and stare at her in shock. " _Madame_ Giry is going to kill me," she groaned.

Erik and Nadir laughed deeply in relief.

"I will protect you from the stern ballet mistress' wrath," Erik joked.

"You'd better! That's what husbands do," Sophie retorted with a huff.

Erik cupped her face gently in his hands and Sophie smiled up at him as he looked at her in her stained, dirty, and torn wedding attire.

"My beautiful wife," he murmured and he leaned down to place a kiss on her lips.

Nadir stepped away and silently excused himself, and then they were alone.

"Not yet," Sophie whispered and smiled. "Come, let's get married… finally," she commanded.

Erik's mouth twitched in a grin, "as you wish."


	34. Chapter 34

**Persephone Unchained**

Chapter 34

Erik willed his hands to stop their faint trembling as he escorted Sophie to the carriage outside of Nadir's home. The sword tapped lightly against his thigh as they walked. It was calling to him, beckoning him with its siren song to turn and run back to the graveyard and put an end to the man who had threatened Sophie's life, and by extension, the life of their unborn child. Erik had heard the disgusting words that her stepfather had said to her. His vision was still tinged with the red of his rage as he led Sophie away from her stepfather and out of danger.

She bumped him playfully with her hip as they walked and when he looked down at her he saw the hint of a smile on her lips.

Sophie was safe. She was free from harm. She had played things smart and stalled her stepfather until he could get to her. The red tinge of bloodlust faded slowly from his sight.

He looked at her, standing there and holding onto his arm as she smiled up at him and stood on tiptoes and pressed her soft velvet lips against his mouth. It didn't matter that her dress was torn, or stained, or dirty. She was the most beautiful thing that he'd ever seen in his entire life. And she was his. His grip tightened slightly on her arm.

They soon reached Nadir's flat and Erik stifled _Madame_ Giry's gasp and sputtering with a sharp look. The old ballet mistress pursed her lips together unhappily. Emma ran forward and threw her arms around Sophie's skirts and began to cry.

"I'm fine, Emma, I'm alright," Sophie shushed the little girl and smoothed her hair. "You were perfect," Sophie soothed her. "Thank you for running to get help."

 _Madame_ Giry snapped her pocket watch closed. "We're officially late," the old woman announced, and then she ushered both girls into the carriage and tapped her cane against the carriage roof. Darius snapped to attention and jumped into place on the carriage driver's seat.

Erik stepped forward to join his bride but was blocked by _Madame_ Giry's cane as it barred him from the door.

"The men drive separately," _Madame_ Giry told him sternly. "It's bad luck. And heavens know, you need as much good luck as you can muster up today," she added. And then the old ballet mistress was climbing into the carriage and shutting the door resolutely behind her.

Nadir tried to catch his breath beside him. "I'll hail us a cab," the old man stated between heavy breaths.

Erik rolled his eyes at the inconvenience of it all.

* * *

Erik stood just off to the side of the Altar in Sainte Chapelle as he waited for the whole thing to start. The priest stood awkwardly and completely silent beside him. They both stared at the door, waiting and patient.

He gulped and pretended to ignore the priest who was side-eying him and his mask. The sooner this was over and the sooner they were leaving Paris the better. But… what if she'd changed her mind in this short time? What if she'd come to her senses now that the threat of her stepfather had been practically eliminated? What if, right at this moment, _Madame_ Giry was spiriting Sophie far away from his reach?

The doors opened and if Erik thought that he had been nervous before, he knew now that he'd been wrong. His heart dropped into his stomach as the church organ player began the bridal march. She was breathtaking as she appeared. Even stained, and torn, and dirtied. There had never been a lovelier bride than his Sophie. Erik felt unshed tears prick his eyes as he looked at her. Their eyes met across the church and she smiled at him and looked radiant. She practically glowed.

And then was Nadir leading Sophie ever so slowly towards him at the base of the altar. They paused, a third of the way down the carpeted nave, and then Sophie pulled away from the Persian unexpectedly and ran back in the direction from where she'd come. She disappeared entirely from view.

Erik stopped breathing. He was sure that he'd die right there on the spot as she ran from him. Until he heard the sounds of her vomiting, and then a moment later she returned, her face crimson in embarrassment, and she was taking up Nadir's arm again as if it had never happened at all.

The priest turned slightly on the dais and stared at Erik with an exasperated look of disbelief. Surely this wasn't the man's first pregnant bride? This was a Catholic church, after all. Erik ignored the man and pretended that he hadn't seen the priest's expression of contempt. Let the priest think whatever he wanted.

Finally, slowly, Nadir led Sophie up to the altar. And then she was handing her bouquet of flowers to the Persian her hand was reaching out to join Erik's outstretched hand. His nerves settled when the skin of her palm touched his. Their fingers intertwined as she stepped up beside him.

The organ music faded softly. Nadir kissed Sophie's cheek and then he took his seat beside _Madame_ Giry and Emma on the pew.

Together as one unit Sophie and Erik linked arms and turned to face the priest as the man began to say a prayer. The priest seemed to go on and on as he talked about fidelity and trust and commitment and caring for one another. He quoted some passage from the bible about patience. Erik tuned out the religious man's drivel.

Instead of paying attention he snuck a glance at Sophie. She truly was the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen. Would there ever be a single day that she didn't take his breath away? He didn't think so.

The priest cleared his throat.

Erik turned to look at the man and saw that everyone seemed to be waiting for him.

"What?" Erik asked nervously. The priest closed his eyes and sighed and repeated what Erik had not heard him say the first time.

"Repeat after me," the priest instructed. "I, Erik Ravel, take you, Sophie Fontaine, to be my wedded and lawful wife…"

Erik cleared his throat. "I, Erik ravel, take you, Sophie Fontaine, to be my wedded and lawful wife," Erik repeated.

The priest nodded, apparently satisfied that things were back on track. "I promise to be true to you in good times and in poor, in sickness and in health…" the priest added added.

Erik repeated the words.

"I will love and honor you all the days of my life," the priest concluded.

"I will love, honor, and cherish you for the rest of my life," Erik promised.

Sophie smiled up at him and squeezed his hands.

The priest turned to Sophie now. "Do you, Sophie Fontaine, take Erik Ravel, as your lawful husband?"

Sophie beamed up at Erik. "I do."

"To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer?" the priest continued.

Sophie repeated the vows without hesitation.

"In sickness and in health, to love, cherish, honor, and obey until death do you part?" the priest finished.

"In sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and honor until death parts us," Sophie promised instead.

Erik grinned down at her, at her tiny rebellion.

The priest closed his eyes and Sophie stifled a laugh. "The rings?" the priest beckoned.

Nadir patted his pockets from the pew and rose to give the rings to the priest and then returned to his seat.

The priest held Erik's gold band up in the air.

"The ring is a symbol of this sanctioned union. It is a circle, with no beginning, and no ending. It represents God's love for his children, and his blessing of this marriage. It represents that two people are becoming one today as the links are forged."

"Repeat after me," the priest instructed as he handed Erik's wedding band to Sophie. "I give this ring as a sign of my love and faithfulness in the name of the father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit."

Sophie took the ring and slipped it onto Erik's finger as she repeated the vow.

The priest nodded encouragingly and held Sophie's ring up in the air. "Repeat after me," he instructed Erik. "I give this ring as a sign of my love and faithfulness in the name of Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit."

Erik slipped the ring onto Sophie's finger, "I give this ring as a sign of my love, faithfulness, and devotion." he promised instead.

The priest sighed heavily and cleared his throat. "Good enough," the priest mumbled under his breath. "I now pronounce you husband and wife in the eyes of God and the Catholic Church. You may kiss the bride," the priest concluded rapidly.

Erk didn't need to be told twice. He took Sophie into his arms and pressed his lips to hers as she wrapped her arm around his neck and held him to her. After a moment that felt like an eternity and no time at all, he pulled away so that he could look at her, his beautiful wife.

"Go in peace with Christ, my children," the priest said as he made the sign of the cross over his body.

Erik ignored the man and kissed his wife again instead.


	35. Epilogue

**Persephone Unchained**

Epilogue

Sophie scowled at the row of flowers that she was tending in the garden. Her gloved hands dug into the earth and pulled yet another weed free. She tossed it onto the growing pile.

"Sophie!" Emma called out from the kitchen porch.

Sophie leaned back on her heels and shaded her eyes from the glaring sun so that she could see the little girl where she stood.

"What is it?" Sophie yelled.

"Come and look!" Emma yelled as loudly as she could as she bounced on her heels and disappeared somewhere inside the house.

Sophie sighed and pulled her work gloves off of her hands and stuck them in the pocket of her rough, stained apron. She leaned a hand against the soil and slowly pushed herself to her feet. Her growing belly was making the daily chores more difficult now. She was nearly in her seventh month of pregnancy, and she was incredibly grateful that summer would soon be at an end. The September days were crisp now in the mornings and evenings, and pleasantly warm during the days whenever it was sunny. It was getting harder and harder to get up and down without help now. In a few more weeks she didn't think that she'd be able to manage it alone at all.

Sophie pressed a hand under her heavy belly to support its weight as she waddled up to the house.

"Emma?" She called out. "Where are you?"

"Upstairs! Hurry!" Emma yelled, her voice muffled from the distance.

Sophie groaned but headed up the stairs. It took her longer than she'd ever admit.

"In here," Erik called out from the direction of the nursery.

Sophie made her way over to the baby's room.

"It's done!" Emma shouted happily.

Erik was standing up on a ladder in the center of the room as he waited for Sophie to enter and inspect his work.

"Oh! All finished, now?" Sophie murmured as she leaned against the doorway and tried to catch her breath.

"If you pull this chain here, then it activates the mechanism which turns it," he instructed.

Sophie left the doorway and entered the room that she'd spent hours and hours painting. The entire room was one giant mural of a forest. Erik had helped Sophie plan and implement the design, but he had allowed her to make it her own pet project. The result was a pastel forest with willowy trees and friendly animals peering out from here and there. Fantastical mushrooms sprouted up on one wall by the scene of a brook that cut through the forest scene. Her favorite part was the wall with fox, who she'd painted to be peering out through the leaves of a shrub. In the center of the room there was the wooden cradle that Erik had carved and painted himself. Its legs were curved for rocking and the handles of it had been carved with vines of twisting roses. The wood was dark and polished.

She stepped forward and reached up and pulled the rope that Erik indicated and watched in wonder as the mechanical mobile that Erik had crafted and suspended from the ceiling cranked to life. The whole thing had been made to look like a starry sky with a round moon and clouds that showed glittering, jeweled constellations between the fluffy clouds. As the mechanism wound itself up a golden sun moved and covered the moon, and the clouds shifted to hide the stars from view. Sophie pulled the cord again and watched the mechanism reverse as the sun was hidden from view, and the clouds parted to reveal a starry sky around a happy, smiling moon.

"What do you think?" Erik asked as he clambered down the ladder and joined her.

"It's perfect!" Emma yelled happily.

Sophie felt Erik's arms come around her. He rested one flat palm along her bulging belly.

"I agree with Emma. It's amazing. But I still don't understand how you made the mechanism with a pull instead of a winding key," she murmured.

Erik smiled down at her before looking back up to the mobile. "Do you doubt my genius?" he asked with mock hurt.

Sophie swatted him on the arm and grinned happily. "Keep your secrets, then, husband." They stared into each other's eyes.

"Ugh, you two are being gross again," Emma said as she ran from the room.

Erik took advantage of the little girl's disappearance to pull Sophie into a deep embrace. He kissed her and took her breath away.

The baby kicked against his hand as he squeezed her to him.

"Ah! My son is already jealous of your affections," he joked as he pulled back from her.

"What makes you think that she's not a girl?" Sophie inquired playfully.

"Don't you know? You married a genius. Besides… his kicks are far too strong to be a little girl. A father knows," he gloated.

Sophie smiled and kissed him quickly. "We'll see."

* * *

Their daughter was born exactly five weeks and one day later. The labor pains began at some point in the dead of night. Sophie rose from bed and tried to walk it off, but after hours of being uncomfortable, the pains grew and then intensified. She was sitting in the kitchen drinking a cup of tea when she felt her waters break and leak all down her leg. Not false labor, then. Her time had come. The baby was on its way for real this time.

Erik joined her in the kitchen when she failed to return to bed.

"Erik," she panted between contractions, "the baby is coming. Fetch the doctor," she instructed.

"Nonsense," he contradicted her and helped her make her way slowly back up the stairs to bed instead. "I've read everything there is to know. And besides, I'll not leave you alone right now."

Many hours later their child was born. Erik wiped her brow and gave her sips of water while she labored and grunted and pushed and cursed him for doing this to her. The pain was worse than she'd remembered. How could she have forgotten all of this pain? Sophie felt the pressure intensify as her urge to push became overwhelming. She screamed and grunted as their child was born. Erik pulled the infant to safety and dried the child in the stack of clean, dry cloths that had been set aside for just this moment.

"A girl," he announced as he laid the wailing infant on Sophie's chest.

Dawn broke through the morning sky as Sophie stroked their child's cheek and cried.

"She's beautiful," she announced. Sophie stroked the tiny infant's wispy hair and inspected every finger, limb, and toe. She kissed each one and smiled even as she cried.

Erik took the stacks of cloth and cleaned Sophie of the evidence of her labor. He clipped the cord that bound mother and child together with a wooden peg and cut it through with a clean, sharp knife. Sophie felt him press another stack of cloths against her center to staunch the bleeding.

A few moments later he wiped his hands dry and joined Sophie in the bed.

"She looks like her mother," Erik sighed in relief as he inspected their daughter. There wasn't a single blemish on her.

Sophie smiled at the child that they'd created, "What should we name her?" she asked as she looked up at Erik.

He appeared surprised that she'd leave such a decision to him. His face turned thoughtful as he looked at their child and considered it.

"Aria," he replied finally.

Sophie nodded and smiled. "Aria Magdelaine Ravel," she pronounced.

Aria wailed her tiny, high pitched voice until Sophie covered her with the warm blanket and held the infant to a breast.

Erik's hands sought hers on the bed and Sophie let their fingers intertwine as their daughter found a nipple and began to feed herself. The wailing stopped as sounds of sucking filled the room.

* * *

 _Madame_ Giry and _Monsieur_ Khan arrived four weeks later for the baby's christening. Both of them cooed and awed over the infant and declared her to be the most precious, beautiful thing that they had ever seen.

Emma helped Sophie dress the baby in her white lacy Christening gown and they wrapped the baby in layers and layers of blankets to ward off the crisp January chill. Then everyone followed suit and bundled themselves against the cold. Together again, they all headed into town to the nearest church for the Christening.

Along the way the carriage hit a bump in the road and set the infant crying. Her voice was loud and robust. She'd be a singer for sure, when she was older, with lungs like that.

Erik pulled the baby from Sophie's arms and sang her a lullaby.

Aria wrapped her tiny fingers around his proffered finger and cooed up at him.

Sophie smiled at the sight that the pair made. Already their spirited daughter had the dreaded, feared, reviled Phantom wrapped around her tiny finger. Sophie grinned at Erik as his eyes rose and met hers from across the carriage.

* * *

Sophie looked up from the desk, startled, as Erik bolted into the study and closed the door behind him with a loud _bang_.

"What on Earth?" she said as she turned in her chair at the desk and watched him as he stalked her silently. Her eyes narrowed at the gleam in his eye. She didn't trust that gleam one bit. Sophie rose from the chair and set the desk between them.

"What's all of this?" she asked him, a faint tremor tinging her voice.

Erik grinned wickedly and set his fingers to loosening the cravat from his neck and the top buttons of his shirt.

Sophie narrowed her eyes at him. Oh no, she didn't trust that gleam in his eyes at all. Her husband stalked her around the music instruments that were scattered about in the study as Sophie edged away from him and that dangerous gleam of mischief in his gaze.

She nearly sputtered when he pulled his shirt from his trousers and threw it haphazardly into a pile on the ground.

"Erik! It's the middle of the day!" she protested weakly. But her knees felt soft and her body was already readying itself for him.

He cocked his head and continued grinning at her as if he could smell the changes in her skin as her desire surged.

"Emma has taken Aria fishing and I, for one, intend to take full advantage of our hour of respite," he teased.

Sophie pursed her lips and played the game, edging away from him and moving around the grand piano that took up nearly half of the entire room. Erik fainted left and tricked her, then dodged right and scooped her laughing form up into his strong arms. She moaned when his mouth caught hers and he held her tightly in the circle of his embrace.

She giggled and felt like a young schoolgirl as he pinned her against the piano and pawed at her skirts. The layers of material slid up her thigh as his fingers reached and found the slit in her drawers. Callused fingertips played against her damp curls and she moaned when he parted her slick folds and found that sensitive bit of flesh between her thighs.

"Hmm," he moaned as his lips slid down from her mouth and dragged against her neck as his teeth grazed the tender skin and nipped. "Me'thinks the lady doth protest too much," he quoted as he sank one finger and then another inside of her.

"Don't quote the bard while your fingers are inside of me," she chastised as she leaned forward and bit his earlobe in reply.

His fingers spread her wide and flicked the sensitive nub in response. Sophie moaned and leaned against him for support as he pinned her against the piano. Her nipples hardened tightly against her corset as he played with her and teased her.

She shrieked a little when he grabbed her by the hips and lifted her up to set her on the top of the piano. And then he was flinging her skirts up even higher and his head was disappearing underneath it all as his fingers abandoned her and his tongue replaced them instead.

Sophie moaned and felt entirely undone as his deft tongue licked her wet folds and teased them apart. A finger rejoined the act and then he was probing her wet, hot depths as his mouth worked at her tender nub. A jolt traveled up her as he hooked his fingers inside of her and found the hidden spot that she loved so much.

Words were beyond her now as he suckled her, and licked her, and caressed her from both without and from within. Sophie reached down and placed a hand on the top of his head to urge him onward as he licked her and flicked that nub with the tip of his tongue. Her thighs quivered in response as his fingers brushed that sensitive bit inside of her while he traced lazy patterns against her with his tongue.

She panted and moaned as he feasted at her like he was a starving man. The familiar knot of tension coiled within her as she arched her back on the piano and pressed him tighter to the space between her legs.

Erik complied and quickened the pace of his thrusting fingers in response. The coil snapped and she tipped over the edge. Sophie moaned in her release as he licked her sensitive, trembling bits until she'd calmed.

Breathless and gasping in the aftermath of their lovemaking she smiled dazedly as he pulled his head free from her skirts and he grinned up at her cheekily.

"Thank you," she moaned in pleasure. "But what did I do to deserve that?" she asked playfully.

Erik leaned over her and slid his fingers up her knee length split drawers until his fingers touched the skin of her outer thighs.

"Let's make a son," he said in response.

Sophie, startled, stared at him from atop the piano. Their eyes met and she saw that he was completely serious. She paused only for a moment before her face softened and she nodded, a blush staining her face.

Erik pulled her from the piano and hoisted her up in his arms as he carried her to their bedroom.

* * *

Their second daughter, Lyra, was born ten months later. The healthy baby girl was born with a full head of wild, brown curls and her baby blue eyes faded to a bright, golden hazel just like her father.

* * *

Sophie stood at the kitchen sink and watched her children playing in the yard. Emma, now blossomed into the early bud of adolescence, was fending off the two younger girls with a wooden sword. The eldest girl waved the wooden sword against Aria's and Lyra's matching set. The littlest daughter, only four, was doing her best to hold her own against the older girls. They screamed wildly and chased each other in yard, thoroughly trampling the grass and Sophie's carefully planted tulip bulbs.

Sophie opened the window wider. "Not in my flower bed!" she yelled at them, pretending to be more cross with them than she really was. "Take your shenanigans somewhere else!"

The three girls turned to look at their mother, grinned cheekily and shrugged their shoulders, before shrieking even louder and charging off towards the tree-lined brook. Sophie sighed and closed the window with a smile.

* * *

Sophie rolled over in bed and felt the lean, hard line of her husband's prone body beside her. She let her hand wander under the sheets until her fingers found the edge of his sleeping pants and the muscled flesh beneath it.

He startled awake as she let her fingers caress the sensitive skin of his lower back and backside.

Her touch trailed upwards until she felt the strong, hard lines of his muscled back. Her fingers traced the lines of scars that had faded slightly with time. Her hair brushed against his back as she leaned over him and replaced her fingers with her mouth. She kissed each silvered scar as her fingers wandered back down to grab at and grope his backside and his thighs.

He moaned and rolled over in bed. Their eyes met as she grinned down at him. His erection tented his sleeping trousers as Sophie pulled the sheet away and bared his glorious body to her eyes.

Rising up onto her knees by his feet she peeled her shift away from her body and she was pleased when the tracking of his eyes stopped on her chest. Despite bearing three children she'd retained her figure for the most part, although perhaps there was a little more fullness to her breasts and backside than had been there eight years ago. Nevermind that her belly sagged a little when she sat.

Erik raised his hands and clasped his interwoven fingers behind his head as she played with her breasts and nipples. Then she was reaching forward and feeling the long, hard length of him as she freed him from his silk pajamas.

Sophie's fingers wandered over his erection and she played with the bead of moisture that glistened at his tip. Reaching up to pull her long, wild hair to one side she leaned down and flicked her tongue against the tip and tasted him.

Erik moaned, but made no move to shift or move away from her as her lips wrapped around him and her free hand dropped to play with the rest of him.

She licked, and sucked, and stroked him as she let him sink in and out of her wet, warm mouth. One hand cupped his balls while the other wrapped itself firmly around his base and lightly squeezed. She used her tongue to lick the length of him, then dropped her head to take him all the way into the back of her throat. He moaned when he hit the back of her throat and he hissed when she let him withdraw just to the tip, only to do it all over again. The junction between her thighs throbbed and dampened at the sound of his moans and grunts as she took his hard length into her mouth.

One of his hands pulled free from behind his head and then his fingers were threaded through her hair as he guided her head up and down his throbbing cock. His fingers fisted tightly as he held her mouth where he wanted it and she delighted in the mixture of pleasure and pain as she licked and sucked at his leaking slit.

Sophie licked another bead of moisture from his tip and savored the taste of him as she sucked and stroked him. His fingers knotted tighter in her hair, as he moaned and kept her mouth wrapped around his throbbing, dripping cock.

She stared up at him through her lashes and she met his gaze as she grasped the base more firmly and began to pump him while she licked and sucked his tip.

And then he was moaning and thrusting into her mouth and hitting the back of her throat as he bucked. Sophie held still and kept her hand at his base, grasping him firmly as she sucked the tip of his cock while he fucked her mouth and searched for his release.

Erik exploded onto the roof of her mouth with a moan. She watched him settle back onto the sheets, tired and spent, as she licked him clean and swallowed him down.

His fingers tightened in her hair at the base of her neck as he dragged her a little roughly up to him for a kiss. She smiled against his mouth as his tongue darted out to taste himself on her lips.

"What did I do to deserve that?" he pondered out loud, his voice husky and dripping honey in the aftermath of his pleasure.

Sophie smiled and kissed him deeply. "Let's make a son," she whispered against his lips.

As she pulled away from him she saw his lazy grin and flushed in her embarrassment. His fingers left the spot where they were fisted in her hair and he reached forward to cup her heavy breast in one palm. Her nipples tightened in response as he leered at her. His limp cock twitched in her hand. His fingers pinched her nipple and made her squeak in surprise.

"As you wish," he murmured. And then he was shoving her back onto the bed and he was sinking his fingers into the damp curls between her legs.

* * *

Their son was born eleven months later. His hair was jet black and lightly waved and his eyes turned bright green after just two weeks. They named him Harper.

Sophie looked up at Erik as Harper suckled at her breast.

"No more," she whispered as she closed her eyes against the fatigue. This labor had been her hardest one yet.

Erik leaned forward and placed a tender kiss against the sweat-coated curls that stuck to her forehead.

* * *

Sophie screwed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose as young Harper ran through the house, screaming in delight, while the family dog nipped at his heels playfully. Their blonde shaggy dog, named Sasha, barked in delight as her nails _click clacked_ on the wood floor in her eager pursuit. Apparently the pair of them thought that this was a great game.

"Take that noise outside," Erik called out sternly to the rambunctious lot. The boy and the dog both complied as they threw the french doors open and dashed out into the warm Summer sun. Their playful screams echoed before they faded slightly from earshot.

Sophie sighed in relief as the noises faded to a dull roar and she took a sip of her cooling tea.

Erik flicked his newspaper to crispen the fold as he continued his reading of the headlines of the Paris newspaper.

"I received a letter from the Palais Garnier yesterday," he murmured softly.

"Oh?" Sophie said curiously, letting the unspoken question linger in the air between them. _What did they want?_ She sipped her tea.

"Apparently someone in their management attended one of the ballets that I composed for Vienna. They want to comission me to compose an exclusive ballet just for them," he explained.

"Hmm…" Sophie murmured into her cup as she took another sip. _Are you going to do it?_

Erik leaned past the edge of his newspaper and their eyes met. _Do you think I should?_

Sophie smiled and set her cup down and shrugged her shoulders as she took a bite of her scone and chewed. She smiled at him with her eyes as he stared at her while she ate. _Do whatever you think is right, husband._

Erik flicked the newspaper and returned his gaze to the headlines on the page.

"Maybe I will," he murmured out loud, and mostly to himself.

Sophie took a sip of tea and smiled into her cup as he began to hum some brand new tune under his breath while he read.

"You know, husband, it occurs to me…" she began, then trailed off.

Erik snapped the paper shut and folded it onto the kitchen table as he looked at her. _What is it, love?_

"... that we never took our honeymoon. Perhaps once this new ballet of yours is finished we could go traveling," she finished.

"I haven't decided if I'll accept the job... yet," he murmured as he tapped his fingers on the table. "And besides, I'm still finishing that piece for Spain," he protested weakly.

Sophie smiled at him and took a sip of tea. _I know that you won't refuse._

Erik tapped his fingers on the table and hummed absently. She was convinced that he wasn't even aware that he was doing it.

"Where would you like to go?" he asked suddenly a few minutes later.

She took another bite of her scone and licked her lips free of crumbs and smiled. "I hear from a very reliable source that Egyptian honeymoons are all the rage," she said playfully.

Erik grinned at her as he picked his paper back up and snapped it open with a flick of his wrist.

"Perhaps the children would like to see all of the beauty and splendor of Paris with their old Uncle Nadir as chaperone and guide," he added as he hummed and flipped the pages of his newspaper.

A warm summer breeze blew through the open doorway. It stirred her hair and scattered the stack of papers and letters that covered their kitchen table. Sophie drained her cup of tea and sat back in her chair, utterly content, and with a smile on her face as her beloved husband hummed and tapped out a song that only he could hear.

 _Finis_


End file.
